


Balance

by Cassiopeia_Kass



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: AWOL, Angst, Drama, Dylan has some issues, M/M, Military captain vs. civilian crew, Misunderstandings, Recovery, Season 1, TW: Harper gets into a very bad mental space and does something, Whump, serious injury, some violence, surf competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-19
Updated: 2001-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeia_Kass/pseuds/Cassiopeia_Kass
Summary: Dylan and Harper struggle to keep their balance.
Relationships: Seamus Harper/Dylan Hunt
Kudos: 8





	Balance

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: "The Banks of the Lethe," and vague bits for "Double Helix" and "The Mathematics of Tears."  
> DISCLAIMERS: They aren’t mine, but if they were, I’d let them have more fun. All things _Gene Roddenberry’s Andromeda_ actually belong to Gene Roddenberry’s estate, Majel Roddenberry, and Tribune Entertainment Company.
> 
> (This is [Viridian5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5) posting for Cassiopeia, a friend of mine who's long gone out of fandom but left me as a kind of caretaker of her _Andromeda_ fics. They've been linked at my personal site for a very long time but I wanted to share them with the fandom more.)

Dylan Hunt had started the day in a foul mood for no reason he could determine beyond the fact that the hot water supply to his shower was temperamental. That in itself could be enough of a reason, since it had alternated between icy chill and searing heat, driving him out of his own quarters and into an abandoned cabin where he could, despite dust on most surfaces, take a shower without losing the outer layer of skin.

His mood had only worsened when it became apparent that Harper was not on board. His temper cranked up another notch when it became equally apparent that his crew, or what remained of it, was avoiding him. By the time he located Beka in the officers’ mess, he was about two notches away from a towering rage.

"Where the _hell_ is Harper? Don’t tell me that we left him on Lessari drift."

"Okay, I won’t tell you that." Beka poured a mug full of coffee and handed it to him. "Get out of the wrong side of bed this morning?"

He took the coffee. "I did not. Where the hell is Harper?"

"You told me not to tell you." Beka’s mouth quirked.

"Beka." Warning delivered through clenched teeth, he felt his eyelid twitch.

"We left him at Lessari drift. He was catching a ride to K’ri for the surfing competition." Beka picked up her own mug and sipped at it.

"Surfing." He managed to make the word sound like an obscenity. "So, he’s absent without leave, again."

"Dylan, I thought we’d gotten past that." She dropped the whimsy and looked at him seriously. "We’ve had a tense few months, the competition was due, and he needed the vacation. He was starting to twitch while standing still."

"I don’t recall anyone asking me for permission." His teeth were still clenched.

"Well, would you have let him go?" Beka arched an eyebrow. "He told Trance where he was going, asked her not to tell anyone until we were well away, and she told me."

He looked at her long and hard and tried very hard not to stomp on his way out of the mess. "Rommie, run a diagnostic on the hot water line to my shower," he growled.

He was almost back to his own quarters before he realized he was still carrying the mug.

  


* * *

Harper was feeling vaguely guilty. He didn’t like it. He supposed no one ever did, but he really hated the fact that he was feeling guilty when he ought to be feeling jubilant. He’d made it through the first heats and placed damn well for a guy who didn’t get much time for surfing lately. 

"Hey, bro," a deep voice said and Mahali sat down next to him, handed him a beer. "You don’t look like you’re enjoyin’ yourself."

Harper grinned, accepted the beer, and took a swallow. The K’ri were Earth human colonists, some South Pacific strains, and Mahali was purer than most. Mahali was big enough to make Dylan look frail and sickly, but Dylan tended to intimidate him on occasion, and Mahali and he had been friends since a long ago turn on a freighter before he’d hooked up with Beka and the Maru. "I kinda left Beka with an uncomfortable situation and I’m feeling guilty."

"Does guilt make it better for her?" Mahali raised one eyebrow. "If you gotta go back, go back, don’t waste time guiltin’ yourself."

"Good point. Nah, she can not only handle it, she’ll kick some serious ass." He took another swallow of beer. It didn’t take the feeling away completely, but he knew Beka would understand that he hadn’t wanted to put her in the nasty position of having to give him permission and have Dylan come down hard on her for it.

Or something.

"Out of 5k contenders, you ended up in the top 2000, not bad for a short kid from Terra." Mahali’s mouth curved. "Nice to see all those lessons stayed with you."

Harper grinned, held out his hand and they bumped knuckles. "Damn right. Figured I owed you payback for saving my ass from Drogan."

"May he rot in hell," Mahali said conversationally and drank to it. 

"Preferably a Nietzschean hell," Harper added and drank to it, too. 

"What would hell be to a Nietzschean," Mahali mused. "Do you ever wonder?"

"Not really." Harper considered the question. K’ri beer was one of the best, he decided, and took another swallow. "Maybe a Wayist universe?"

Mahali’s teeth showed briefly. "Ah, yes, that oughta do it." He bumped Harper with his shoulder and nearly knocked Harper off the barstool. "1200. Not bad, bro. But you’ll have to do better day after tomorrow."

"Yeah. If I wanna win." Harper smiled peaceably at the sunset. "I’m just happy to be here. Never thought it’d be so good to end up planetside."

"Heya, gotta touch your feet to the ground sometime." Wise smile.

He smiled back, even though he didn’t believe it. He’d gotten off the hellhole he’d been born on, and never once looked back. Space was home, the Maru and Beka and Trance were home, and Andromeda was getting close. Damn close. And maybe that was why he was feeling that guilt; he’d left Beka to deal with Dylan, and he _knew_ Dylan was going to be pissed. As much as he liked and respected Dylan, and he liked and respected Dylan a lot, there were things Dylan didn’t understand. Things Dylan didn’t know to respect. "So, you gonna work with me tomorrow?"

"Does the sun warm the sands? You need it." Critical look. "Gettin’ a little out of shape, bro."

"Soft living." He grinned. "But hey, look who’s talking."

Mahali threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rollicking sound that turned heads and cracked Harper up.

Yeah, Mahali was a good friend. But Beka and Trance and the Maru were family. Dylan was... whatever Dylan was. And all were damn fine for an escaped mudfoot to claim as his.

Damn right.

  


* * *

Tyr came by the fifth time Dylan scraped his knuckles on the edge of the access panel while replacing the malfunctioning valve.

He said several undignified things in Vedran and Common before realizing that Tyr was behind him.

"I don’t think that’s anatomically possible," Tyr said, coolly amused. "Do you need help?"

Dylan clenched his teeth. "I do not. I need a goddamn ship’s engineer to be where he’s supposed to be when he’s supposed to be there."

Tyr nodded thoughtfully. "Why don’t you simply go and get him?"

Dylan’s eyelid twitched again. "We are on our way to Ophici Seven, if memory serves, because they’ve finally agreed to open discussions on re-establishing the Commonwealth. I am not diverting this ship."

"There is the Maru," Tyr said mildly, "And you can send me. Or Beka. Although I think I’m likely to be, ah, more persuasive."

It was a measure of his anger that he actually considered that for a moment; there was definite comfort in the image of Harper being forcibly and physically removed from K’ri, and probably manacled inside the Maru and what that said about his opinion of Harper really merited regret, but he felt none.

He put his hand back inside and tightened the ring that closed off the valve. Sweat stung on his scraped knuckles and didn’t help his mood. "The simple fact is that I’m not at all sure I want him back," he growled and the ring was done, he was done, and he pulled his hand out and slid the access panel closed sharply enough that he nearly lost his fingertips.

"As annoying as he is, he has his uses." Tyr sounded amused again, probably because watching Dylan grit his teeth to avoid swearing again was funny to his Nietzschean sensibilities.

"Yes, he does. However, so would someone more disciplined." He gave Tyr a warning look. "I appreciate the offer of help, but it wasn’t necessary. I can still change a faulty valve."

Tyr’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded silently and sauntered off with the usual arrogant elegance.

Dylan, by contrast, simply felt grubby. At least he could shower in his own quarters, an idea he put into nearly immediate practice right up until the moment he stepped into icy water.

"Rommie," he roared, stepping right back out. "Now what the hell is wrong with it?"

Brief silence. "Dylan, you left the hot water control set to off when you replaced the valve."

He put his forehead against the wall. Was he imagining it or did Rommie actually sound... subdued? It was time to deal with Harper once and for all.

Swearing under his breath, he wrapped a towel around his waist. "Rommie, I want you to have some ‘drones pack all of Harper’s things and load them on the Maru. Without, preferably, Beka’s knowledge."

There was a brief silence. "Understood."

He smiled grimly and went out to find clean clothes to take to the cabin next door. So his crew thought it amusing to put things over on him? Perhaps it was time for more than just one lesson to be delivered.

This thought kept him smiling all the way to the hangar bay and the Maru. "Rommie, is this everything?" he asked.

"As far as I’m able to tell, yes." Rommie’s hologram appeared in front of him. "Would you like my advice?"

"No, thank you. I want you to keep an eye on everything, although once I’m out, I’ll turn command over to Beka. You have final override."

Rommie’s image wavered. "I thought you trusted Beka."

"I don’t trust her not to come after me, not entirely. Lock the ship down if she tries." He felt almost virtuously righteous about that last. "I won’t be gone long."

"Dylan," Rommie said and her image wavered again. "Understood."

He smiled grimly, boarded the Maru, and took her through pre-launch checklists. The bay doors opened, depressurizing the hangar, which meant that no matter how furious Beka might be when she realized that the Maru was launching... it made him smile again.

Naturally, the moment he left the bay, the comm was buzzing insistently. He opened the link. "Beka, I’m leaving Andromeda under your command. I don’t expect to be gone long."

She was, clearly, as furious as he had been earlier. "Dylan, I can’t _believe_ you’re doing this. Forget about taking the Maru out without so much as telling me, think about what you’re doing to Harper."

"I have, believe me. It’s all that’s gotten me through the last few hours." He smiled grimly. "Cheer up, Beka. He’ll have plenty of time for surfing." 

Her frown deepened. "What the _hell_ does that mean?"

He closed the link without responding, brought up navigational charts. Given the eccentricities of slipstream routes, it would take him longer to reach K’ri than he’d first thought, but perhaps that was to the good. He’d have time to cool off, to deal with Harper dispassionately.

Why that thought should give him a pang, though, he didn’t know.

The truth was, Beka had been right. If Harper had asked him, he wouldn’t have allowed it, and why the hell should he, they were on their way to try and convince another planetary government to join the Commonwealth. He could live without crisp salutes and military discipline, but some kind of order was necessary.

Telling himself this didn’t prevent him from feeling some qualms when he landed at the spaceport. Fortunately, the public transport to the resort area erased these quite handily, and he’d worked himself back up to righteous anger by the time he reached the competition area.

How in the hell was he supposed to find Harper in this melee, he wondered, looking across the heads and shoulders and other appendages of various types and sizes. There were surfers riding the waves in and a raised dais with what he guessed were judges, as all parties appeared to be watching said surfers. A digital display above the dais was currently blinking indecisively

Dylan’s irritation grew as he threaded his way toward the dais. He was going to have to ask someone official or semi-official about Harper’s whereabouts, and it was annoying not to be able to deal with matters unobtrusively. 

An alarming burst of cheers, yodels, whistles and brays startled him and he freed himself from a knot of rather large K’ri observers to see the object of his search carrying a board larger than he was.

He started in that direction, but as Harper came closer, he could see Harper’s expression and it stopped him cold.

Had he ever seen Harper look that... incandescent? No trace of cockiness, no cynicism, only bright, incandescent joy, and his stomach felt as though it had just rolled up into a knot behind his breastbone. 

A K’ri detached himself from the knot behind Dylan, headed for Harper and they did some complicated greeting that involved shaking hands and bumping their knuckles together, and he was momentarily grateful that the K’ri was bigger than he was, that the K’ri blocked Harper’s view of him.

One step backward and he abruptly wondered what the hell was wrong with him, had he really come all the way here to _fire_ Harper, to strand Harper on K’ri, to co-opt Beka’s commitment to Harper by eliminating it? He was losing his mind, that was all there was, the delayed shock of having his entire world disappear, of having his entire civilization disappear, and while that wasn’t precisely a good excuse....

The digital board flared to life and Harper’s K’ri friend shouted, whacked Harper hard enough on the back to make Harper stagger. Harper whooped with incredulous delight, turned to slap hands with his friend.

He could tell the instant Harper saw him; all that light, all that joy was quenched as if it had never been and Harper went white. The K’ri said something to him, turned to follow Harper’s gaze with a puzzled frown.

For once in his life, Dylan had no idea what to do. He should have melted back into the crowd before Harper turned, he shouldn’t have come here at all, but now he was here and Harper had seen him and damned if he knew what to do or how to undo that catastrophic quenching.

The knot behind his breastbone felt huge. He forced a smile, took a step forward and Harper looked as if he were ill. "Congratulations." He glanced at the board, glanced again. Congratulations were definitely in order.

Harper seemed to sway. The K’ri glared at him, stuck the board into the sand, and started to move toward him, but Harper stepped between them. "Thanks." Still pale and shocked. "Um, I guess you came to get me."

Dylan took in a breath. There was a way to save this, there had to be, and fortunately his brain seemed to realize how. "Not really. Thought I’d come and watch you compete."

Harper blinked at him, flushed. Thank whatever, that flush made him look healthier, more normal. "Oh." Almost shy grin. "Yeah?"

He felt like gibbering with relief. "Yeah." He might have lost his mind, but he hadn’t destroyed... well, whatever.

Relief and disbelief chased each other in Harper’s eyes. "Really?"

Dylan felt light-headed suddenly. Harper wasn’t stupid, he had to make this lie work, had to nail it down securely. "Really. I thought it might help me understand why you keep going AWOL to do it." A little dry.

That dryness seemed to erase Harper’s doubts. He blushed and coughed. "Um. Yeah. I should have--"

"Yeah, you should have," he agreed, interrupting. "But you didn’t, and that’s done."

Another brilliant flush. The K’ri was looking a lot less angry and like he was going to make every effort to separate Dylan’s limbs from his body. "Yeah. Okay." Another diffident glance up. "You got a place to stay? Cuz it’s going to be hard to find one, this place is crammed full, there’s people sleeping on the beach."

He’d done it. "Not yet." Rueful look around. "I suppose I could sleep on the beach."

Harper rolled his shoulders. "I’ve got a room, over that way. Cheap seats, but it’s clean." Almost shy again. 

"I’ll take you up on that." He said it easily. "What now?"

Harper looked at the digital board and some of that delight returned. "Um. Well, because of the tides, that was the last heat today. So I just focus on staying loose and working on my board and getting ready for the day after tomorrow. I go up the coast for practice tomorrow. So, if ya want, you can come along." Shy again.

Harper and shyness had never before seemed to be a possible combination. It made Dylan’s throat ache a little. "Sounds good to me."

The K’ri finally gave up waiting and moved toward them, his bulk dwarfing Harper and, frankly, making Dylan aware that there were people larger than he was. He nodded politely at the K’ri.

Harper seemed to realize that an introduction might be wise. "Uh, Mahali, this is Dylan Hunt, he’s--"

"A friend of Harper’s," Dylan supplied smoothly, cutting Harper off. He wasn’t in uniform, he didn’t want to be High Guard or military or--well, official. "Nice to meet you."

Harper blinked at him, clearly startled. "Um. Mahali’s an old friend, from way back before I joined up on the Maru with Beka."

From his expression, Mahali still had questions, but was evidently planning on reserving them for Harper. "Come on, bro, let’s take care of your board, and get you a beer."

Harper turned slightly, blinked again. "Uh, yeah. But I better wait on the beer, gotta get, um, Dylan settled in."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "Settled in?"

Harper blushed again. "Well, you know, you’re gonna roast in those clothes. We gotta find you some better stuff."

He was wearing perfectly serviceable casual clothes, but Harper had a point. He was definitely overdressed for the beach. "All right." Mildly.

Harper seemed relieved he hadn’t taken offense, even brightened a little. "All right. Good. Great." Brightened a lot. "Hey, Mahali, how about that! 300 out of more than a thousand."

"Gonna have to do better to stay in the running," Mahali growled, but then grinned broadly. "Not bad for a short Terran kid."

Dylan laughed, genuinely, felt some of his malaise dissipate. "Not bad at all."

Harper laughed, a sound of pure delight. "Nope. Come on, let’s get movin’, we’re burning daylight."

Harper’s room was in, as he had said, the cheap seats. Shabby, but clean, as Harper had said, and on a lagoon, and Harper’s room opened out onto a veranda that faced the beach. A short walk down and Dylan could swim, but he was far too intrigued watching Harper nervously shift things around the room.

"You can have the bed and I’ll sleep here," Harper said, pointing at a rather battered and small divan.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Dylan said reflexively, "This is your room."

"Yeah, but I’m short enough to sleep on that thing and you aren’t." Nervous grin. 

Dylan studied the bed, which was a little too narrow for both of them. "Good point." Ruefully. "You’re sure there aren’t any other rooms?"

"It’s no biggie," Harper said diffidently and rolled his shoulders. "Honest, Dylan, one is just as comfortable as the other. There’s a shop down around the lagoon, we can get you some stuff."

Dylan nodded, watched as Harper finished rearranged things to his liking. Was Harper always this nervous of him? He hoped not, he felt monstrous enough over his reasons for coming here. "Harper, do me a favor and relax."

Harper’s expression was comical for a moment; he straightened, rolled his shoulders a little. "Yeah. Okay." 

Dylan laughed outright. "That wasn’t an order."

Sudden grin. "I got that."

Dylan walked over, put a hand on Harper’s shoulder lightly. "Clothes. Come on. You’re right, I’m roasting."

Some of the tension eased from Harper’s shoulders. "Oh, yeah. And we need to get something to eat. There’s a little place, you gotta try some of the K’ri specialties, great stuff."

"Good, because I’m getting hungry." 

Another sunlight grin. "Me, too."

  


* * *

By the time Dylan had changed into more relaxed clothes, Harper’s heart rate had gotten back to normal. Mostly. Even now, sitting across a small table with the open sea in front of them, he found brief waves of panic hitting him when he glanced over at Dylan.

Dylan was supposed to be on his way to a conference with some planetary government, not hanging out with him and eating K’ri food in the shade of an apma tree. Wearing shorts and a loose comfortable shirt and eating with his fingers.

Not to mention drinking a K’ri beer and talking animatedly with Mahali about outriggers.

Relax? Hell, he wasn’t sure a case of K’ri beer would relax him. But if that’s how Dylan wanted to play it, he’d go along. 

"So how did the two of you meet?" Dylan asked finally, pushing away from the table. He tilted a grin at Harper. "I thought you’d been on the Maru since you were toddling."

Mahali laughed. "He stowed away on a freighter. I was working the Schiesser industrial routes, working for a Nietzschean captain. Bastard put him to work to earn his way, and...." Typical Mahali shrug. "That was it."

Harper squirmed uncomfortably. Talking about the past was... not something he wanted to do in front of Dylan. "Yup."

"How long did you work the freighter," Dylan asked, looking at him.

"Not long." He really, really, really didn’t want to talk about this. "I was looking for a job when I connected with Beka." He _knew_ what Dylan was thinking. Or at least he had a vague idea. Harper working for a Nietzschean, but Mr. High Guard had no freaking clue what it was like. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and when you lived on a Nietzschean controlled planet, you got off-world on Nietzschean controlled ships. He was just damned lucky that Drogan hadn’t bothered to tell anyone that he had a runaway mudfoot with an experimental port in his neck. "‘Nother beer?" he asked hopefully.

"Don’t mind if I do," Dylan said agreeably.

Mahali looked from Dylan to Harper and grinned. "I’ll get this round. You’ll have to carry the kid back if he has more than three."

"Hey!" Harper straightened his shoulders, indignant. "One, I’m not a kid, and two, it takes more than three."

Mahali just laughed, got up, and wended his way back toward the bar.

When Harper glanced at Dylan, he found Dylan was watching him, half-smile on his face. "I like him," Dylan said and grimaced. "Not that it’s required."

Harper rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I was gonna say, thanks, Dad."

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. "I’ve _seen_ Beka whack you on the back of the head. I wonder if it’s as effective as it seems when she does it."

"I only let her think it’s effective." Harper reached over to Dylan’s plate and picked up the last steamed shellfish. "Can’t let it go to waste."

"Where do you put it all?" Dylan asked, amused. 

"Hey, I burn it all off." He smiled sunnily and took the last swallow of his beer. "And I have a fast metabolism."

"I wonder if that has something to do with your consumption of Sparky cola." 

He could take offense at that, but this Dylan was... relaxed. Different. And maybe he was just being totally paranoid, but he guessed that going AWOL would do that. Dylan’s relaxation damped the brief flares of panic down and he sank back into his chair. "Maybe. Maybe not. I ate this way when I could a long time before I ever had my first Sparky."

A shadow passed over Dylan’s expression. "Ah."

"Not that I got that many chances," Harper added, making it worse when he really wanted to erase the whole thing. "Um, you know."

Dylan nodded. "So what do you do here when you aren’t working on your board, practicing, or competing? Besides eat well." He patted his own stomach. "You were right, that was incredible."

Harper grinned. "That about covers it, really. Except for sleeping. Can’t party too wild if you’re competing, and if I don’t make it through all the heats, it’s not going to be because I got wild and crazy the night before. It’ll be because I’m not good enough. Some really amazing people out there."

Mahali came back with the beers in time to hear this. "You just keep thinkin’ that, bro. Keep ya from getting too confident."

"Oh, like I could with you around." Harper grinned.

A massive fist came to rest on the top of his head. "I know how to keep your head the right size," Mahali growled.

"That’s because you taught me. Ow!" Mahali’s knuckles rubbed against his skull, not gently. "Hey, I wasn’t braggin’!"

"Just keepin’ you in line." Harper almost laughed at Dylan’s expression. Little trace of tension in Dylan’s jaw; hell, maybe he figured he was the only one outside of Beka with ragging rights.

"Saw some folks I need to talk to," Mahali said and handed him his beer, leaned across the table to give Dylan the other one. "Remember, early tomorrow. You want to fly over the waves, bro."

"Gotcha." Harper felt a brief flare of panic again, but hey, he and Dylan had done fine while Mahali had been off getting the beers. Maybe it was going to be fine. 

So why did he have the feeling that the other shoe was still waiting to drop?

  


* * *

Harper seemed gradually to relax over the next few days, which was nice. Dylan found himself more relaxed as well, which was even nicer. The weather on this part of K’ri was interesting; it frequently rained in the evening, short, blameless showers that were as warm as the air. Harper liked to stand out in it, for some arcane reason, liked to swim in it; Dylan sat on the verandah every evening watching him and drinking a K’ri beer in an entirely hedonistic way.

Harper was, actually, a far more restful companion than he would have expected. Of course, Harper seldom stopped talking until he actually fell asleep, but since he obviously didn’t intend for Dylan to respond to everything, Dylan just let himself be entertained by the running travelogue on K’ri, an eloquent discussion of how to keep one’s surfboard in the best condition and the proper proportions for a truly excellent board, and other assorted facts that popped out of Harper’s active mind.

He did note that none of these ramblings contained much more than a sliver or two of personal information and filed that away for further consideration. 

But it was odd to realize that he was enjoying himself, that he was enjoying Harper. Well, not that he didn’t enjoy Harper’s company on other occasions, but this was the longest he’d ever gone without experiencing the brief, urgent desire to throttle Harper.

On the second day after his arrival on K’ri, Harper managed to astound nearly all his K’ri audience by placing thirtieth out of the five hundred semi-finalists. To his own surprise, Dylan found himself standing and sharing in the roar of approval and delight that accompanied the posting of the semi-finalist scores.

Mahali and some of his assorted clan members carried Harper off the beach. Laughing and yelping, Harper waved at him. "Help!"

Laughing under his breath, Dylan followed, right into the nearby bar, found Harper ensconced on the bar and having what smelled like apma heart wine poured over him while Mahali held him in place. One of Mahali’s younger and indubitably luscious kinswomen leaned up to give Harper a long, lush kiss and several people shouted out approval and some slightly obscene suggestions as to how matters should next proceed.

It appeared she had every intention of following those suggestions, given the way her hands roamed over Harper, and Dylan’s good humour abruptly evaporated. He turned and left the bar, oddly uncomfortable and irritated, both at himself and Harper. The latter was unfair, it wasn’t any of his business what Harper got up to in his private time, and Harper was well over the age of consent--although he had no idea by how much--and he was damned if he was going to show that irritation to Harper.

Not on the heels of Harper’s triumph.

Instead, he decided to walk back to the hotel. He was halfway down the beach when he heard Harper’s voice from a distance. He turned and waited until Harper caught up with him, was able to smile genuinely. "Hey, what are you doing out here?"

Harper came to a stop, slightly breathless. "Um. Hey, Mahali’s cousin is just... you know, it’s just their way." 

He laughed, a little forced. "Nothing wrong with that. Go on back and enjoy your party. I’m just enjoying the afternoon."

Harper looked at him, his expression peculiar. "Um. Come on back, I told ‘em to settle down."

It appeared there was no graceful way out of it. He tried anyway, forced another chuckle. "Harper, they’re your friends, go back and enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it." He put a hand on Harper’s bare shoulder, found it sticky and laughed genuinely. "This must be a ritual." 

Harper looked down at himself and grimaced. "Yeah, I need a shower anyway. You going back? I’ll go with you. Hey, Mahali’s my friend, but his family is too damn noisy. Makes me nervous."

Dylan found that oddly touching, since he didn’t believe a word of it. "You can get that shower then."

"Yeah." Harper gave him another long look, grinned. "And then something to eat. I’m starving. Can’t drink on an empty stomach anyway."

Suddenly, Dylan’s ill mood took a sharp right and he laughed. "Good point. Tell you what, I owe you a celebration drink or two anyway, I’ll buy after we eat."

"Yeah?" Cheerful again, Harper fell into step with him. "Sounds good to me."

Perhaps restful wasn’t the right description for Harper as a companion. Enjoyable was a far better word. Smiling again, Dylan let Harper’s discussion of where to eat roll over him, wondering what on earth had ailed him and put him back into a temper.

  


* * *

Harper didn’t know what had pissed Dylan off, and he wasn’t even sure Dylan had _been_ pissed off, but whatever. He was just glad that whatever it was, if it was, it was past, and it wasn’t aimed at him. It was weird, he hadn’t expected to be able to have a good time with Dylan here, but he was. 

Whoa, there was a realization. He stood stock still under the shower spray and stared at the shower door. Shook his head hard, flinging water droplets against the stall. Damn, damn, the last thing he needed to do was get himself hot and bothered over Dylan "Mr. High Guard Stickler for Military Rules" Hunt. So he wasn’t going to. Even if Dylan was a lot of fun to be around when he didn’t have that iron rod up his ass.

So keep that idea out of his head, and he’d just keep on keeping on. Besides, even if Dylan were remotely interested, he wouldn’t show it, and he was damned if he was going to make a total fool of himself coming on when they had to go back to the Andromeda again.

Still, some mischievous impulse made him walk back out in his skin, toweling his hair dry. "Hey, if you don’t mind the public trans, Dylan, we can try that place I was telling you about. Great food, not expensive, and I could show you some of the city." He peered at Dylan, saw no visible signs of distress--you never could tell, different cultures had different nudity taboos--and grinned. "Or we could get take-out and eat here."

Dylan’s expression was... not peculiar exactly. But casual. Weirdly casual, as if Harper walked into a room stark naked every day. "We could," he agreed. "And just between you and me, when I came out here the other day, the public transport was inhumanly crowded."

Harper thought back to his initial view of Dylan’s expression. "No wonder you were in a bad mood when you got here."

Dylan stood up suddenly and went to the open door. "It’s raining."

Harper blinked. "Oh, man, and I just showered." Mournfully.

Dylan didn’t look at him. "So? Shower again. What is it about swimming in the rain that you like, anyway?"

"The weirdness of it. Besides, on Earth, standing in the rain’s a good way to get your skin dissolved, not to mention a whole raft of weird skin diseases." What the hell, why not. In deference to Dylan’s sensibility, he dug out a pair of shorts before heading toward the door. "Come on, you oughta give it a try."

Dylan looked at him, moved aside to let him out. "That’s okay, Harper, I’ve been in the rain plenty of times." Oddly gentle voice. "Go, enjoy. Just don’t take too long or I’ll start on the furniture."

"You’d only get splinters in your teeth." Harper dashed out, couldn’t keep from laughing at the sheer sensual pleasure of warm rain on his skin. "Dylan, you don’t know what you’re missing, this is really great." He tipped his head back and stuck out his tongue, tasted the hint of salt from the sea, laughed again and turned to run for the water. Long run, smooth dive, and he bobbed up, waved vaguely toward the open door before letting himself float.

There was mingled disappointment and relief that Dylan hadn’t reacted to his nudity, and there was relief that even if it wasn’t going to happen, maybe he and Dylan were actually getting to be friends. He closed his eyes and let the rain fall on him, warmer than the water that supported him. Dylan was right, his thing for the rain was pretty crazy, but hey, he was okay with it.

He was okay with a lot of things right at the present moment, and when he got back to the verandah, he shook his head wildly, cackled when Dylan yelped and swatted at him, and ran back into the bathroom. This shower was quicker; it was just a rinse to get the sea off his skin. An even quicker toweling and he pulled his shorts back on, padded out barefoot on the lino floor to eye Dylan through the glastic door. Dylan’s expression was brooding, it took him by surprise. "Hey, what did you decide?"

Dylan’s head jerked around and it was as if he’d misread Dylan’s mood, there was only a look of amusement. "I’m feeling lazy. I think there’s a storm blowing in, you got your swim in just in time."

"Oh, hell, that means lots of shit on the beach tomorrow." He shrugged, stepped out to see that Dylan was right. Cloudbank the color of a nasty bruise, and the wind wasn’t the usual gentle breeze off the sea. "Hope it’s not too nasty."

"Let’s go pick something up before it gets nasty," Dylan suggested and got up. "This place looks sturdy enough, and it’s not monsoon season here."

Sheesh, there was a thought. "Yeah." But the storm drew his eyes. Planetstorms actually scared him, although he’d rather set himself on fire than admit it. Less than Magog, more than, say, K’ri spiny eels, but he could feel the short hairs on the back of his neck stirring. Primitive response, he supposed, or maybe not, maybe just the memory of some horrific magnetic storms from when he was still trapped on Earth.

"Harper?" 

He looked up to find Dylan watching him. "Yeah, good idea, let’s go."

So off they went, and he managed not to jump out of his skin with the first crack of lightning.

  


* * *

Harper’s appetite had suffered with the storm, Dylan thought later, although he’d enjoyed what little he’d managed to eat.

He felt a certain sympathy for Harper’s jumpiness, even though storms didn’t trouble him. He’d had a fellow shipmate from Callisto who went white and vomited when a storm hit planetside, never mind Garn had been totally fearless in combat and reckless in his pursuit of challenges like mountaintops. 

Being pent in one room with Harper was _not_ a good idea, he decided, but Harper was more or less quiet and thankfully fully dressed. Well, for K’ri, Harper was fully dressed at any rate, and it certainly wasn’t Harper’s fault that he’d developed inappropriate feelings for Harper’s feet.

Insanity didn’t seem likely; his thought processes appeared to be normal, he was functional, capable of analytical thought, didn’t hear voices--but when Harper had walked out of the bathroom naked, it had been like....

Like the lightning that made Harper jump badly each time it cracked the sky. 

Whatever it was like, it cast doubt on every decision he’d made since discovering that Harper had left the ship. He’d been driven by what? Jealousy that Beka had known where Harper was? That Harper hadn’t told him? Asked him? Jealousy that Beka understood and approved and he didn’t, couldn’t?

He didn’t know. Maybe he’d been driven by the simple urge to get rid of the thing causing him discomfort, a child’s reaction and one that shamed him even more than the simple realization that what he had planned to do to Harper had been arbitrary and unfair and cruel. 

"Eat," he told Harper gently. "It’s not that bad a storm, we’re fine."

Harper twitched, didn’t quite look at him. "Guess my stoic exterior didn’t fool ya."

"Everyone has different things that bother them." Like spiky-haired engineers with oddly endearing manic ways. "Myself, I have serious problems with quakes. Even a tremor makes me jumpy and hyperalert and mean as hell."

Swift grateful look. "You’re lying, but I appreciate it. You aren’t afraid of anything."

He laughed in spite of his mood. "Harper, I swear, the thought of the ground under my feet liquefying makes me a little insane."

"I’m not sure that qualifies as insane."

Loud crack outside and Harper jumped visibly. "That was close." 

"Cards," Dylan said, "Let’s get some distraction going." It would be good for both of them. He could forget that Harper was sitting on the floor wearing very little other than shorts and a loose singlet, and Harper could forget there was a storm.

"Don’t have any." Another crack and Harper was up and over near his bag, rummaging in it. "Just brought a game and a visor, I always just plug in, but when I play Mahali, he needs the visor." Talking too fast, and when he returned, Dylan saw beads of sweat on Harper’s upper lip.

He took the visor gladly. "Sit."

Another bolt of lightning, crack of thunder, and Harper jumped again. "Why is it so close?" Shaky, brave attempt at laughter.

From somewhere in the underpart of Dylan’s mind came the knowledge that he _could_ distract Harper, and very effectively. And it would be wrong, it would be taking advantage and even worse than the real reason he’d come to K’ri. 

He shoved unbidden images away, caught the game before Harper dropped it, and patted the floor next to him. "Sit. Tell me how to play."

Harper sat, shoulder to shoulder, shivered once. "Yeah. Okay. Right." He launched into an explanation that was easy to understand despite Harper’s distracted air and occasional faltering.

Once the game was started, though, Harper calmed, lost himself in the intricacies of treasure gained and villains defeated, and began to enjoy himself.

Dylan wished he could say the same of himself.

The storm had passed by the time he’d been decisively defeated, and Harper unplugged the lead, tilted his head to listen. Grinned. "Excellent prescription, doc."

He wanted to lick the sweat off Harper’s upper lip. "Good." Gruffly. Getting up, he stretched, moved toward the glastic door, and slid it open. Fresh, storm-washed air and it smelled like paradise. He stepped out, grimaced at the debris that had blown up on the verandah. "The beach is going to be a mess," he told Harper. Far off in the distance, a low rumble, and the Harper noises behind him paused. Footsteps and then Harper stepped out beside him. 

He had to bite back a smile, had to force himself not to put a hand on Harper’s shoulder.

Harper took a few steps forward, sighed. "Yeah, it will. What the hell, all day tomorrow and maybe Mahali won’t be such a slave driver."

He did reach out then, drew his hand back before touching. Unwise, unwise, and it was part and parcel of all his self-indulgence lately, indulgence in temper and anger, indulgence in Harper’s presence-- "I think I’ll turn in."

Harper turned, his face a pale smudge in the night darkness. "Okay. Hey, thanks."

He deliberately misunderstood. "For what?"

Harper shifted. "For not laughing your ass off at me."

"We’ll have to keep each other’s secret," Dylan said lightly. "I won’t tell if you don’t."

Harper laughed, and the sound was delighted. "Mutual blackmail?"

"Exactly."

"I like it. Jeez, I had no idea you were so sneaky."

If only Harper knew, Dylan thought, darkly amused. "Good night, Harper."

"Night." Harper turned back toward the night, and Dylan went in.

Sometimes, he wished epiphanies could be better timed.

  


* * *

Somehow, Dylan managed the next few days without betraying himself. It became easier on the second day after the storm, when Harper, improbably, placed tenth in a ruthless winnowing that took the number of finalists down to 100. Harper’s amazement and delight superseded his own brooding and he joined Mahali’s folk in pouring palm wine over Harper. 

They spent that afternoon working on Harper’s board, all three of them, not that Harper allowed them to do much more than fetch and carry things. Sitting on the edge of the verandah with Mahali, both of them watching Harper polish an already glossy surface to something that nearly blinded, Dylan shook his head, laughed softly. "He’s got the fever now."

Mahali looked at him sidelong. "Just a little. If he doesn’t win, he’ll be all right."

Dylan nodded. "Yeah, he will."

Mahali sighed. "He doesn’t know what you’re feelin’, does he." It was a statement, not a question.

Dylan felt a slow tide of color rise from under his collar, closed his eyes briefly. "That obvious?" Trying for a light tone.

Mahali shrugged. "My people, we pay attention to feelings. We have to. The price for traveling to K’ri when Earth was dying was some genetic manipulation, everybody knows what everybody else is feeling." Brief smile. "Keeps lyin’ to a real low, but the strength of it varies."

"Telepathy?" Dylan was startled. "Price for whom?"

Mahali shook his head. "Legends. Stories. And it’s not telepathy. Maybe telempathy would be a better word."

Dylan considered that. "Legends," he asked, risking it.

"The M’Nshara." Mahali looked back out at Harper. "He’s a good kid."

"He’s not really a kid," Dylan said and sighed. "I’m not sure he ever really was."

"Everyone’s a kid to me." Brief sly grin. "Another side-effect. We live a long time. And yeah, he is a kid, a few places inside him, yeah. Mostly, you’re right. But not all the way."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. That was obscure, he thought. "What do you mean?" Bluntly.

"He lives in the minute. Or tries to. That’s what Earth taught him. Take care of the now, worrying about a future that might not come is crazy. Kids do that. The world is bigger and harder than they are, so they live in the minute."

It explained a few things, Dylan thought, and wondered that he hadn’t realized it before. "So you’re saying he doesn’t think about the future."

Wry smile. "He’s a man, now, sure he does. But he doesn’t dwell on it. You, you worry about your Commonwealth and the crew and the ship and what’s gonna happen in a year from now. He doesn’t let himself, and he hasn’t had to since he hooked up with Beka Valentine. Good woman."

Dylan nodded absently, thinking about it.

"You gonna tell him?" Mahali looked at him directly. 

Dylan shook his head. "No. It wouldn’t be fair."

Long, level look. "So you’re gonna decide for him."

Frustration welled up. "I’m his captain. I have certain responsibilities and not just to him."

That look didn’t ease up. "Tomorrow and the next day and the next year. See what I mean?"

"I don’t have any choice." Dylan glanced, saw Harper running a fingertip over the surface of his board in satisfaction. "This discussion is done, Mahali. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him either." 

"Not my business. Between the two of you." Mahali said something unintelligible in K’ri. "Do what you need to do." 

Harper started toward them, grinned. "I want a cold beer," he called.

Mahali heaved himself up. "You can have two," he called back. "And then no more tonight."

"All right, coach." Harper trudged toward them.

The sight of that uncomplicated happiness did something strange to Dylan’s stomach. He rubbed his chin, put his face briefly into his hands. The next two days were _not_ going to be easy.

But that was understatement, and he woke in the deep of night to find that the moons had risen. Silver light streamed in through the glastic door, and illuminated the nest of blankets and cushions that Harper had made for himself. Sighing, Dylan swung his legs over the side of the bed with some vague intention of closing the sunshade to dim the room again; Harper rolled over, kicked free of the blankets and stretched out, one arm over his eyes.

Dylan’s brain, already sleep-mazed, simply closed down. He was almost instantly erect, and his mouth went dry, he stared at the sleeping figure. It wasn’t merely that Harper was nude; Harper, too, was erect, dreaming of something sensual, and all he could think of was how that hot, stretched skin would feel under his fingertips or against his tongue, and how easy it would be just to get out of bed, to go over there and take Harper by surprise, wake him from the dream and drown any objections in pleasure--

He stood up, sweating, appalled at himself and fully awake. Opened the door with something just short of violence and headed straight for the water, kicking free of his shorts just before he reached its edge. The air was warm, balmy as it always was at night, and the water was little better. Instead of cooling his blood, it felt sensual, stimulating and he cursed himself, the sea, and the moon with equal viciousness, forced himself to swim out to the breakwater and back.

Once out of the water, he simply picked up his shorts, let the air cool his wet skin. He would go back in and simply tug a blanket over Harper. Or not. Perhaps if he left the door open, the night breeze would make Harper burrow back in. In any case, he was _not_ an impulsive man, he wasn’t going to act on _this_ impulse, and certainly not in any way that might be coercive or manipulative, and god, as he approached, he saw that Harper was standing on the verandah, a pale shape that made his pulse jump alarmingly.

He wished he’d put his shorts back on, and that made him a little short. "Did I wake you? Sorry."

"S’okay. You all right?" Sleep-muzzy voice, and Harper squinted at him.

"Fine." At least he had a good excuse for a shower. An ice-cold shower, and it didn’t bear remembering that an ice-cold shower had gotten him into this situation in the first place. "Go back to bed, Harper."

Harper peered at him again. "What’s the matter?"

"Nothing," he snapped and wished he hadn’t. "Sorry, I just--" He shrugged.

Harper stood there, silent for so long that his pulse started to speed up again. "Dylan, why did you come here?" Harper asked, his voice clearer, more wide-awake. "You sure as hell didn’t come all the way out here to watch me compete."

God. Temper flared again, and shame, and the one fed the other. "I came," he said, low and deadly, "To tell you that you shouldn’t bother coming back to Andromeda. Satisfied?"

Harper didn’t answer, didn’t move. Brushing past him, Dylan cursed himself, his temper, and the moon and headed for the bathroom.

  


* * *

Harper was numb. Numb. Numb.

The lagoon was almost silver with moonlight, he crouched at the water’s edge and hugged his knees, deliberately not thinking. It was like when you got shot, there was a white hot burst of pain, and then there was a weird numbness when you went into shock, and then, when you came out of shock, it hurt horribly, and he wasn’t in any real hurry to feel that.

Don’t come back. Don’t come back.

Sure, he could have lived without Andromeda, although there wasn’t any denying that it would hurt. But Dylan had come in the Maru. That meant it wasn’t just Dylan, it was Beka, too. They’d argued over the years, who didn’t, but never once had she ever threatened to dump him.

But Beka didn’t make threats, she just acted. He should have told her he was going to K’ri, he shouldn’t have let her find out from Trance, he shouldn’t have put her in the position where she had to face Dylan with that news. He should have done a lot of things. He should have told Dylan right out he was going.

Maybe he shouldn’t have done anything but stay on Andromeda, but something in him rebelled at that last. Surfing was like... like flying in dreams, only surfing was real. It felt free and glorious, better than piloting in slipstream, which could be tricky in a different way.

He couldn’t stop surfing.

Don’t come back.

He’d thought Beka was family. Thought he was her family, too. The Maru was home. Had been home. He’d gotten soft, that was all, gotten soft and used to the berth on Maru, and the people on Maru, and something in him that was still the kid living in alleys quailed at the thought of having to start fresh without proper certifications, even if he did pass exams for his licenses fair and square. A new captain, and there wasn’t anybody like Beka, he knew too well what some of them were like even if he wasn’t that kid anymore. New people, and there would be testing, testing to see where he fit in, what he could do, and maybe, maybe just how tough he was.

Resting his forehead on his knees, Harper waited for the pain, felt the first stealthy approach. He’d survived damn near everything in his life so far, lost family and friends before he’d escaped the hell that spawned him, but he wasn’t sure he could start over again. He didn’t have enough of the rage left. Oh, there was rage in him still, but it had blunted, cooled, and he knew from experience that the predators sensed any weakness or weariness and went for it like they could already smell the blood.

Mahali would let him stay, he knew, but he couldn’t, couldn’t stay planetside either, he’d go crazy, totally whacked out.

He didn’t know what to do. 

It hurt now, hurt badly, and part of that was that Dylan hadn’t just made the cut clean. Maybe that was Dylan, trying to let him down slowly, who knew with Dylan? He sure as hell didn’t. He thought he’d seen some of the Dylan that hid behind the High Guard mask, but now... he didn’t know anything, except that he couldn’t go home.

Home wasn’t home anymore.

Raising his head, he watched the water, let the moonlight dance hypnotize him.

When a hand dropped on his shoulder, he nearly cried out, but sense told him it could only be Dylan.

"Harper, I’m sorry." Muted voice. 

"S’okay." His voice was thin. Dylan’s apology made things worse. Way worse. It suggested that it hadn’t been Dylan’s idea. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick, but he pushed up to his feet anyway. "I’m going to turn in, got to get my practice in tomorrow."

"Harper--" Dylan hesitated. "I didn’t mean to be short with you."

Maybe it had been hard for Dylan to tell him. He nodded distantly. "S’okay. Good night." He thought maybe Dylan looked unhappy, ad he rather meanly hoped it was true. He was bleeding to death, the least Dylan could do was feel unhappy. 

Dylan nodded. "Good night."

Of course, he couldn’t sleep. His thoughts chased each other round and round like the rats he’d once competed with for food. Dylan finally came back in, but it wasn’t until Dylan’s breathing went regular and slow that he finally realized that he really only had one choice at this point in his life.

And having decided that, he fell dreamlessly into sleep.

  


* * *

Harper was normal enough in the morning, if a bit subdued. Dylan reckoned that Harper had been taken aback by his sharpness the night before and simply gave him some space, did his best to make up for having made an ass of himself.

He found he rather missed Harper’s voice by the end of the day, tried to engage him in another game of whatever the hell it was called, but Harper declined. "Gotta big day tomorrow." Colorlessly.

He watched as Harper made up his makeshift bed. "Harper, are you all right?"

Brief glance upward. "Fine. I just need to focus on tomorrow, get my mind into the right set." 

Dylan wasn’t entirely reassured. "You’re sure?"

Harper gave him an unfathomable look. "I’ll be okay, Dylan, don’t worry about me. I’m a hard case, I survive."

That was obscure enough to leave Dylan nonplussed. "Okay."

Brief nod in his direction, and that was that. Oddly unsettled, Dylan went to bed himself, unable to quite focus on what troubled him about that exchange, other than its obscurity, dreamt badly and woke feeling as if he’d been involved in hand to hand combat all night.

Harper was already up and out, evidently, so he showered hastily, shaved, rummaged a Sparky out of Harper’s bag and went outside to find Harper polishing his board again. 

"You’re going to wear it down to nothing," Dylan said lightly. "Had your morning Sparky yet?"

Harper squinted up at him, shaded his eyes with his hand. "I want it to be perfect. And not yet." He took the Sparky and opened it, took a long swallow, eyes half-closed in pleasure. "I love this stuff."

"I hadn’t noticed." Dylan grinned, crouched beside the board. "You sure you won’t let me do some of it?"

"Nah, almost done." By contrast with the day before, Harper was cheerful. "I’ll let you carry it if you want to, but it’s a longer walk today. We’re going south of the headland, these are the finals."

"Better waves?" Dylan arched an eyebrow.

Harper grinned. "Killer waves. For real. You have to know what you’re doing out there, you get thrown into the Pipe, you’re a goner."

Dylan frowned. "The Pipe?"

"Yeah. But it’s not that bad. Just not for amateurs." Harper’s smile was sunny. "It’s this weird rip, if you come in a little off angle, it can catch you and smash you into Kameha Rock." He illustrated with his hands. "Hey, it’s okay, it’s not any worse than throwing yourself down a mountain wearing narrow things on your feet. In snow, no less."

He couldn’t help laughing at that. "You just have to know what you’re doing--ah, I see your point."

"Heh." Harper put the lid back on the polish. "Okay, I think that’s smooth enough. Hand me the slip?"

Dylan retrieved the cover, helped Harper slide it over, careful not to touch the board. Despite Rommie’s apparent belief that Harper was a slob, he’d come to see that Harper simply had his own style of organization. Not one that would have worked with High Guard discipline, hence Rommie’s viewpoint--and, on occasion, his own--but one that suited Harper. Once the slip was sealed, he grinned at Harper, stuck his arm through one of the straps. "I live to serve."

Another sunny smile. "Cool. My very own High Guard captain." 

He looked closely at Harper. Nerves, maybe, because the smile seemed almost as if Harper was strung a little too tight. "Finish your Sparky." Lightly, and he shifted the strap. "Ready?"

"As I’ll ever be." Harper returned to the verandah, grabbed the bag with his wetsuit in it, hefted it with a grin. "We’re meeting Mahali there."

The walk, a few kilometers, wasn’t bad, and Harper, blessedly, was no longer silent. In fact, he talked nonstop, mostly about Andromeda and what he’d done most recently, and when he needed to perform maintenance, and Dylan listened and nodded in the right places.

He also studied Harper’s profile as they walked. The monologue stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut, but Harper seemed genuinely cheerful. The repair and maintenance talk turned to Trance and what Trance liked and didn’t like, and that eased Dylan’s mind, it seemed more normal, and maybe Harper was just looking forward to getting back and telling Trance about the trip.

Once at the competition site, Harper shimmied into his wetsuit, a performance made oddly erotic by Harper’s innocence of intention. Dylan averted his eyes, stared out at the sea, and god, these waves made the others look tame by comparison. 

"Are you sure this is safe?" he asked Harper, frowning a little.

Harper looked up, grinned. "If you know what you’re doing." He hesitated, squinted at Dylan. "You know nothing is completely safe, Dylan."

He nodded. True enough. "Not even throwing myself down the mountain."

Harper laughed. "Right." 

Mahali arrived, oddly silent. Whatever had ailed Harper the day before must be going around, Dylan thought, although barring an attack of amnesia he was morally certain he hadn’t barked at Mahali at any time. It wasn’t until Harper unsealed the slip that Mahali began a stream of last minute exhortations, instructions, and cautions. 

Harper nodded patiently throughout, finally picked up the board. Bumped knuckles with Mahali and grinned. "Thanks, bro. For everything."

Mahali nodded, a little solemn. "You be careful out there, and remember, stay north, away from the damn Pipe."

Mock salute and Harper was gone, vanished into the crowd gathering at the water’s edge.

Mahali stared after him and Dylan’s gut stirred uneasily again. "You’re worried."

Sidelong look. "The Pipe isn’t a joke." Mahali pointed. "See those outriggers? Most guys, they get caught by the Pipe, they bail, they have a better chance that way, the outriggers go out and try to get them. Can’t get too close, the rip’ll get the outrigger."

Maybe that was why his gut felt strange. "There they go." Shading his eyes, he searched for Harper, found the spiky hair, and smiled. "Think he’ll do well?"

"He’ll do as well as he wants to do." Mahali looked at him. "Gotta admit, having you here seems to let something loose in him, never seen him do this well before."

They stood in silence for a while, watching brightly colored boards move toward the start point.

"There," Mahali said, sounding satisfied. "Now you’re gonna see some surfin’ for real."

"Damn, I should have brought binox." Dylan squinted.

Mahali chuckled. "Here you go. You can borrow mine." He handed Dylan a collapsible set.

Opening them, Dylan squinted through the lenses, adjusted the focus until he could see that spiky blond hair again. Smiled as Harper waited for the signal and then smoothly took up his position, waiting for the next big wave. And the incoming wave promised to be the right one, from the look of it, a wall of water, and he was damned if he could figure out just why Harper loved doing this.

He handed the binox to Mahali. "I’m afraid watching him catch a wave that size is sort of turning my stomach." Quick grin. 

Mahali chuckled. "Looks scarier than it is." He put the binox up to his eyes. "There he goes, good footing, he’s got his balance, yah, bro, you’re doing good."

Dylan grinned. Mahali continued exhorting as if Harper were still able to hear him, and finally handed the binox back with a satisfied air. "He’s doing damn good."

Dylan squinted at the ocean, looked through the lenses. Harper seemed almost to be flying; he wished he could see Harper’s expression, wondered if it was that same blissful look Harper got when plugged into Rommie’s net. Maybe he could understand after all, Harper’s stance was... evocative of joy.

Sighing, he handed the binox back. "Amazing."

Another sidelong grin. "Yah." Silence for a moment as Mahali found Harper again, and then, "No, no, bro, come on, you can bring it back, come on."

He looked sharply at Mahali, not liking the sound of that at all. "What?"

"Goddamn!" Mahali squinted over the binox. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s gonna lose it--"

A sort of hush fell over the crowd, even the vendors falling silent.

Mahali let loose with a vicious sounding stream of K’ri, toss him the binox and started running; shocked, Dylan followed, not sure why or what was happening. At least not until they reached the outriggers.

Mahali had gathered a following by that time, and all of them seemed to know precisely what they were doing; Mahali took hold of his arm, switched back to Common. "You swim?"

"Very well." His heart was thumping. "He’s hit the Pipe."

Mahali shoved him toward the outrigger and he knelt between one rower and another. "Damn fool looked like he was heading straight for it." 

Another stream of K’ri, and they were out in the water, paddling fast and traveling faster than Dylan would have thought possible; the binox were still in his hand. He raised them, peered through them, and saw Harper still on his board, heading off to one side from the other competitors. Gooseflesh prickled his skin; Mahali was right. There was no sign of worry, of distress, of fear, Harper just balanced and rode the wave straight toward the rock spire that loomed up out of the bay.

The paddlers and Mahali were arguing in K’ri as they got closer; Dylan ignored this, watched and willed Harper to bail, to jump, to let the board go and take better chances in the water.

Harper kept on, shifting and balancing and god, he was going to kill Harper if this didn’t, he was, he’d never been so conscious of gut-twisting terror for another human being in his life. The outrigger slowed, veered.

"We can’t get any closer," Mahali raged. "Goddamn you, Harper, I told you and told you, bail!"

Fuck this, Dylan thought distantly and stripped off his shirt and sandals. He was a very strong swimmer, his mother’s heritage allowing him to beat tides and traverse distances that the ordinary person could not. It was the reason he’d never swum competitively, it seemed an unfair advantage. "Can you get me a little closer?" he asked grimly.

"You can’t save him, man." One of the rowers gave him a compassionate look. "Man’s got a deathwish and he’s gonna get it to come true."

He didn’t accept that. "Harper is a survivor." 

The rower looked past him. "Not any more." Sorrowfully.

He turned in time to see the board hit the rock. Harper hit the rock, flipped, and was sucked under. Dylan dove without thinking, swam into the fucking rip, and let it take him where he needed to be.

Filled his lungs again and dove down, down, down, and there was nothing, no Harper, only a few shattered fragments of board. Back to the surface, another deeper breath and down again.

Something pale glimmered below him; he stroked downward, caught at it and felt triumph and terror mingled when fingers closed weakly around his wrist. He yanked, felt resistance, and used it to pull himself further down. Something... something had hold of Harper and he had no knife, nothing, so he simply yanked harder, kicked hard and stroked toward the surface.

Another moment of resistance and he could _feel_ his lungs demanding a new breath; it lent him strength, thinking of Harper, who had been under longer. Kick, stroke, kick, stroke and he burst up into the air and light, dragged oxygen into starved lungs.

Water streamed from Harper’s nose and Harper’s eyes were closed.

"Don’t you dare," he rasped and took stock. The rip ran straight and true to the rock, but bled out along the sides. If he cut at an angle toward the beach, the outrigger might be able to pick them up quickly. He aimed that way, holding Harper’s head out of the water. "Don’t you fucking do this to me, Harper, I swear, I’ll find you no matter what kind of afterlife you inhabit and I’ll make your afterlife a fucking hell." Pointless raging, but the adrenaline helped fuel him for the battle with the rip, which wanted to hold them there, suck them back under.

He fought it, fought it with cold fury and then suddenly, suddenly they were free of it, and Mahali was leaning in the front of the outrigger as it slid across the water toward them.

Dylan reached, caught the edge and Mahali caught hold of Harper. One of the rowers grabbed Dylan’s hand, he climbed back into the boat smoothly, bent over Harper, laid face down on the bottom of the boat.

"Oh, bro," Mahali said sorrowfully. 

He snarled wordlessly at Mahali, rolled Harper over on his back, and searched for a pulse. He didn’t expect to find one, so it wasn’t as frightening as it might have been. Count down the necessary finger widths, place the palm just so, and compress. Again and again and Mahali was holding Harper’s nose and breathing into Harper’s lungs.

One thousand and two thousand and three thousand, again and again. Stop, wait for Mahali to listen, to check Harper’s pulse and shake his head sadly.

He couldn’t quit. Wouldn’t quit. Dammit, he wasn’t going to give up on Harper, he couldn’t, it would kill him. He felt ribs creaking under the force of the compressions, distantly wondered if he’d broken any of them; it wasn’t uncommon, really, and half-expected and finally the outrigger slid up on the sand, he felt the shock as it hit dry land and someone took hold of his shoulder.

"Come on, man, medics are here, let them get to him."

Fuck the medics. He looked at Mahali, saw grief and acceptance and his fury burst free. "Damn you, you never gave up in your life, don’t you dare give up on me now!" He slapped Harper’s face hard, slapped the other side, and bent to take over the breathing, to do it by himself.

"Dylan, he’s gone." Mahali’s deep voice was choked. "Let him go."

"The hell I will." He bent again, blew more air into Harper’s lungs, drew back, and slapped Harper again. "Front and center, Mr. Harper, right _now_!"

Mahali made a strangled sound. Dylan reached down, felt a faint thready pulse. "He’s not gone, dammit, I’ve got a pulse."

Pitying looks from the others, but Mahali bent again, fresh hope blooming in his eyes. One thousand and two thousand and three thousand and this time, this time when Mahali drew back, Harper choked and vomited up seawater.

Mahali rolled Harper on his side, looked at Dylan with tears streaming down his face. "You did it, man."

He was shaking badly enough that he let the medics through then. Harper’s body was bruising, pale skin turning livid purple in too many places, god, and he’d probably broken Harper’s ribs, but Harper was breathing, Harper was alive.

Alive.

Adrenaline deserted him then, he sat back on his heels, completely exhausted, watched as the medics bundled Harper up in blankets and started to carry him off. "Mahali," he said hoarsely. "Give me my shirt and sandals."

Mahali did more, he gave him a hand up and steadied him, walked with him to the medevac and rode to the nearest clinic, speaking fast and incomprehensible K’ri.

They wouldn’t let him go in with Harper, of course, but he hadn’t expected they would. He sat in an uncomfortable chair, the same uncomfortable chair that seemed to exist in every emergency clinic everywhere in the universe, waited until someone came out and said something cheerful in K’ri to Mahali.

"He’s conscious, no broken bones." Mahali made a gesture toward the heavens. "The gods were good to him."

That was good, Dylan reflected, because he personally was going to maim the little bastard. After he got done making sure Harper really was all right. Which wouldn’t happen until they got back to Andromeda. "Mahali, I want to take him back. No disrespect to the clinic, but my ship has very advanced medical facilities and I’m not going to relax until Rommie and Trance have a look at him."

Mahali studied him. "Really better?"

"Really." He rubbed his forehead. "God, and he’s got stuff at the hotel."

"Easy to fix. Got a friend with an aircar. Sit tight."

He rose with Mahali. "Tell them I want to see him."

Mahali nodded, spoke in K’ri to the woman who had spoken to him. She nodded and gestured and Dylan followed her.

Harper was lying on an examination table, still well wrapped in blankets--or rewrapped, Dylan wasn’t certain--staring up at the ceiling.

God, he’d hit Harper hard, both sides of Harper’s face had puffed up and bruised. It made his stomach turn; he had to close his eyes briefly to gather his composure. Harper did finally look at him when he reached Harper’s side.

"Hey." Gently. "Great performance, bad direction." 

Harper just looked at him. "How’d I get out?" Rusty voice. 

"I, ah, I’m a strong swimmer, I got you out." He risked putting his hand over Harper’s, found it cold and limp. "I’m going to get you back to Andromeda pretty damn quick, make sure the medics didn’t miss anything."

Something in Harper’s eyes changed. "Back to Andromeda?"

"Yeah. Rommie and Trance need to work their magic on you." He tried to smile a little. "Just to be on the safe side."

"Beka’s going to be pissed." Faintly.

Dylan considered. "Well, maybe. She’ll get over it."

Harper clutched at his hand suddenly, but Harper’s eyes closed again. "Hurts."

He ached. "Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I kind of had to manhandle you to get you breathing again."

"Should have left me." Very faintly this time.

"The hell." He squeezed Harper’s hand. "I don’t leave my people behind _anywhere_."

Harper shuddered, but didn’t let go. Didn’t try to pull free.

He also didn’t say anything, so Dylan just waited for Mahali, still holding Harper’s hand.

  


* * *

Getting Harper aboard the Maru turned out to be less complicated than Dylan had feared. Mahali and his friends or cousins had collected all their belongings from the hotel--quite neatly in fact, and not the jumble he’d expected--and the aircar was a tourist affair, plenty of room for Harper to lie down, although Harper resisted that idea quite strenuously and insisted on walking out of the clinic.

Limping, actually, and Dylan finally asked, a little desperate. "Can I at least give you a hand?" 

"M’okay." Stubborn Harper.

Dylan exchanged a look with Mahali, who shook his head. He gritted his teeth and let be, walking close enough to catch Harper if need be.

In the aircar, Harper insisted on sitting up, rested one side of his battered face against the window; once at the spaceport, he again insisted on walking to the Maru under his own power.

Blessedly, he didn’t fight once there, but went to his bunk immediately.

"Stubborn haole." Mahali scowled in that direction. "Take care of him, Dylan Hunt."

Dylan held out his hand, had it enveloped briefly. "I will. Thanks, Mahali."

Another scowl. "Don’t thank me. Find out why in all the hells he headed for the Pipe. And don’t let him back on a board until you find out. I’ll be in touch."

"Count on it," Dylan told him grimly. 

When the hatch was sealed, he filed his intentions with the control station in orbit around K’ri. While waiting for approval to lift off, he went back to check on Harper, sat down gingerly on the edge of the bunk. Harper was facing away from him, lying on his side. 

"Hey," he said softly. "Can I get you anything?"

"Uh uh." Harper turned his head slightly. "M’okay."

He risked putting his hand on Harper’s shoulder very lightly. "You are _not_ okay, Harper." Very softly. "It’s going to take a while to reach our portal, can I get you something to drink?"

Harper shifted painfully to his back, peered at Dylan through one swollen eyelid. "Yeah, I guess. I’m just a little beat up, Dylan, I’m really okay."

"A lot beat up." Gently. "How about a coldpack for your face? I’ll bet Beka has a couple in the Maru’s medkit."

"Okay."

Harper’s passivity was frightening, but he had to remind himself of concussion and near drowning and, god, what if Harper really had been gone too long, and oxygen deprivation--he was going to drive himself crazy, that was all. "Harper," he said, a little desperate again, "You’re scaring me."

Harper blinked hard. "What?"

He found Harper’s hand and squeezed it. "Never mind, you scared hell out of me and I’m not tracking yet. I’ll be right back."

Cold packs in the medkit as he’d thought, and something cold in the storage cooler; some kind of fruit juice he didn’t recognize, but Harper nodded when he held it up. A little rearrangement of Harper’s bedding and Harper was propped up, taking cautious sips and watching Dylan pop the tabs on the cold packs to activate them.

Harper shivered when Dylan slid one under his right cheek. "Rather have it on my leg."

Dylan frowned, remembered deep water and resistance. "Did they check your leg?" He turned slightly, reached for Harper’s ankle. "Something grabbed you hard down there."

"Dunno. Think so." Harper twitched away from him. "Don’t mess with it, okay? It’s sore."

Dylan pulled his hand back. "I just wanted to check it." Mildly. "I’ll be careful."

Harper’s eyes closed briefly. "Okay." Faintly. 

Dylan loosened the tab that snugged the cargo pants again Harper’s ankle, pulled the fabric away and up just enough to see Harper’s calf. Bruised and scraped and he could see a faint spiral of livid dots, as if a sewing machine had run amok on Harper’s skin. Clear dermaseal, he could see the sheen and didn’t test it with his fingertips. "Looks like they did." Grudgingly. "Did they clean them?" The color of the small punctures bothered him, they still looked inflamed.

"Dunno. Think so, but I was kinda fuzzy." He carefully tugged the fabric down again, fastened the tab loosely. "Our clearance should be in, you want a blanket before we head out?"

Harper nodded. "Beka’s going to be nuclear." Faintly.

He wondered why Harper was so worried about that. "Beka has a temper," he said finally. "But not as bad as mine. Don’t worry about, Harper. I’ll deal with it." It bothered him, that certainty. "And I don’t think she will be." He briefly clasped Harper’s free hand, found it cold. Reckoned with shock and pain and decided Harper wasn’t thinking quite straight. "Besides, you’re the guy who survived the Pipe, Harper." Trying to get even the ghost of a grin, but Harper’s eyes closed again.

He took the bottle of juice and closed it. Put it under Harper’s hand and went for the blanket. Harper seemed to be asleep when he got back, so he merely tucked it carefully, headed back out to the bridge.

Their clearance was in, and that was a relief; he ran through the usual checklist and lifted off, both glad and regretful to put K’ri behind them.

  


* * *

Harper dozed, woke when the ship entered slipstream, dozed again. He wasn’t sure if it was pity he saw in Dylan’s eyes, he wasn’t sure why the hell Dylan cared, and he sure as hell wasn’t sure why Dylan was taking him back to the Andromeda.

He struggled upright, carefully moved to put his feet on the floor. The right leg hurt like hell, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He must have hit Kameha on that side, he thought and took in a deep breath before standing up. What the hell, everything hurt, mostly, and lying around wasn’t going to make it better. He thought he’d wait until the ship left slipstream before standing up, though. No point in making things worse.

The shudder as the Maru came out of slipstream made him sway. He made it to his feet and slowly, carefully toward the bridge.

Dylan looked around at him, scowled. "You should be lying down."

Harper shrugged. "I’m just a little beat up, I’m not crippled."

"You’re a lot beat up," Dylan said, but said it kindly. 

That kindness made his throat hurt; he had to be on his feet when they got in, had to face Beka strong and straight and no whining no matter how bad he felt right now. Dylan gave him a long look, sighed, and turned back to guiding the Maru back into the hangar bay.

His stomach kept knotting up, listening to the hum as the Maru set down, and the hangar doors closed. Dylan went through the checklist as always, unsnapped himself from the pilot’s seat, and hit the hatch control. "First stop med-deck," he told Harper.

Harper nodded uneasily. "You talked to Beka?"

Dylan rubbed his chin. "Talked to Rommie, she said Beka will be down to meet us."

He thought Dylan sounded nervous, which only made him feel sicker. But he nodded like it was no big deal, headed toward the hatch. 

Rommie hadn’t been kidding. Beka was there with her hands on her hips, and her expression was... well, pissed was the least of it. Shock, probably at seeing him get off the Maru, and then anger. "Dylan!"

"It can wait, Beka. Harper needs to get to med-deck." Dylan’s tone was even.

"I can make it," Harper muttered. "I don’t need an escort."

Sharp look from Dylan and Beka’s mouth thinned out worse. "No, it can’t wait."

"Yes, it can." Dylan’s mouth thinned out, too, and they stared at each other.

Harper started to roll his shoulders, thought better of it. "I’ll, ah, just head down there." He did _not_ want to be on the sidelines of this, he didn’t want to be here, period.

Of course, Dylan had thwarted _that_ plan.

He limped out of the hangar bay, heard Beka’s voice rise and limped faster.

  


* * *

Harper had been right. Beka was nuclear. The argument went from the hangar bay to the med-deck, where Harper wasn’t, to Harper’s quarters, where Harper wasn’t either and Dylan lost track of how many times he’d repeated himself. No, he had not dragged Harper away from the competition. Yes, he had hit Harper, that was fair admission, but he’d done it for a reason. No, he didn’t know how Harper had wiped out so spectacularly--but that last was evasion, and he felt a little sick doing it. 

"You aren’t telling me something," Beka said for the fiftieth time after more than an hour of interrogation and argument.

"I told you everything that’s mine to tell," he snarled. "He wiped out. Something called the Pipe. He hit a wall of rock, and nearly drowned, and yes, you’re quite right, I _did_ hit him, I was trying to get him to breathe again, dammit! What is there in that account that you don’t understand, Beka?"

"Dylan?" Rommie’s voice. "Harper’s in my ‘net and he’s been there an awfully long time. His bioreadings are _not_ healthy."

He looked at Beka, felt his gut tighten up. "How in the hell--never mind. He’s in the core?"

"Yes."

"Have Trance meet us there with a medical kit, Rommie. Dammit, why didn’t he just go to med-deck like I told him."

"I told you there was something wrong." Beka went out into the corridor, pointed at him. "I told you he was too good a surfer to wipe out that badly, and he’s too damn good to let himself get hurt that badly."

"You didn’t see that rock," Dylan muttered and started running. "Rommie, tell me what’s going on with his bioreadings."

"His temperature is up considerably, his respiration is shallow, pulse is 190-- Has he been exposed to anything toxic?"

Dylan thought of the thing that had pulled Harper down. "I don’t know. Indigenous deep water creatures on K’ri, Rommie, something wanted him for lunch, had a tentacle or something wrapped around his leg." He reached an access ladder, slid down it, and heard Beka curse behind him. "It left what looks like small punctures in his calf."

He could almost feel Rommie accessing her extensive databases. "The most likely candidate would be very toxic indeed. I’ll meet you with the anti-toxin."

Dylan ran, heart thumping hard. "Rommie," breathlessly, "How toxic is _very_ toxic?"

"Several of the deep sea inhabitants secrete a paralytic toxin that also, essentially, breaks down the cellular structure of the victims, pre-digesting them so that the creatures can then consume the--"

"Never mind." Dylan skidded around a corner, hit the door control, and beat Beka inside by a length. Harper was curled up on the floor, his input lead plugged into Rommie’s core. Pale skin was beaded with sweat, and the curl didn’t look right, there was something wrong with Harper’s leg. Careful, careful, he cautioned himself and shifted Harper, pulled the tab loose at Harper’s ankle and lifted.

Behind him, Beka gasped. "Sweet gods of Nefiri, what _did_ that?"

Dylan pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, shook his head. Harper’s calf had swollen to twice its size, was dotted with ulcers the size of his thumbnail. Ulcers that had replaced the small punctures in the hours it had taken to get to the Maru and argue with Beka. "I should have taken him to med-deck myself," he said flatly.

Beka crouched on Harper’s other side, patted Harper’s face. "Come on, Seamus, come out of there, we gotta get you taken care of."

It wasn’t Harper’s normal blissful expression. Oh, his eyes were closed, just as they usually were when he explored Rommie’s internal net, but this was different. That difference made him shudder. He shook at Harper’s shoulder. "Harper, dammit, come on." Fruitlessly, and he had a feeling he was beginning to understand why. Harper had escaped from the pain and sickness into Rommie. It would be dangerous to unplug him, although he was less than clear about the actual mechanics of connecting with virtual reality. "I’m going in after him." Grimly. "Rommie, I need a visor. And you’ll need to help me find him."

"We’ve got to get him out of here!" Beka looked at him. "We don’t have time to waste while you go hunting in the ‘net!"

He put a hand out, took hold of her wrist when she reached for the input lead. "We don’t have a choice. Do you want to take the chance that unplugging him will kill him?"

Trance skidded around the corner, damned fortuitous timing, followed by Rev, who had somehow gotten the word and was carrying a visor and lead. Harper didn’t use a visor, didn’t keep one in the core, and it had been a while since Dylan had been inside Rommie’s ‘net. Didn’t matter, he had the recent memory of the Pax, and he’d done it all before. "Don’t let anyone unplug him," he told Trance, who had bent over Harper with a scanner. "Rommie, we need that anti-toxin."

"On the way." 

He plugged the lead into the second socket, put the visor on, and fell out of his body and into a virtual world.

Rommie’s internal net appeared around him. He got his breath, found his footing and Rommie appeared. "This way, Dylan."

He followed her across what seemed a vast expanse, stepped over an invisible threshhold into a world that didn’t belong on Andromeda. He was standing on a beach, not unlike the beach on K’ri, but the color of the sea was wrong. Harper was sitting cross-legged down at the water’s edge, watching the surf. It wasn’t until he had reached Harper that he placed the vista on Collandra, a place he’d once visited in his reckless youth.

"Always wanted to come here," Harper said dreamily. "Wanted to see it."

It was sunset, and the copper sea glittered almost blindingly. Crouching, Dylan looked sidelong at Harper. "You want to tell me what this is about?"

Harper grimaced. "Never hurts when I’m in here. I thought maybe I could outwait some of it." He looked down at his hands, linked his fingers together. "Guess Beka was really pissed, huh."

"Yeah, at me. She thought I’d beaten the hell out of you and dragged you off K’ri. I told you, I was pretty angry when I left for K’ri." He risked putting a hand--whatever that meant in virtual reality--on Harper’s shoulder. "She’s not mad at you, Harper."

Harper didn’t look at him. "She didn’t want me to come back."

Appalled, Dylan sank down in the sand. "Harper, where did--" Oh, hell and bloody hell and he should just rip his tongue out and learn sign language to give orders. "Harper," he began again, and what the hell, this was virtual reality, put his arm around Harper’s shoulders. "I think you misunderstood something. When I was angry, yeah, that was how I was thinking. But by the time I got there, I knew it was unreasonable and irrational. Beka didn’t have any idea of what I’d been thinking, I just hijacked the Maru and went after you."

Harper was staring at him. "Beka didn’t want to get rid of me?"

He closed his eyes briefly. "Harper, Beka would undoubtedly murder me if she knew that’s what you thought."

Harper ducked his head, made a sound not unlike laughter. "Oh." Then, "Oh, shit." Very small voice.

"What?" He tightened his arm. 

"Nothing." Harper kept his head down. "So you changed your mind before you got there?"

Okay, that was evasion again. "Harper, by the time you saw me on the beach, I had no intention of firing you." Which, at least, was true and said nothing about him seeing Harper on the beach or what had changed his mind.

Harper sighed. "Why were you so mad that night? When you went swimming?"

Dylan rubbed his forehead. "I hadn’t slept well, I’d dreamt badly--" Right. Lie and lie and lie. "The moonlight was so bright it woke me up after I’d gotten to sleep again, and I’m not always at my best short of sleep."

Harper sighed again. "I thought--" Stopped and examined his hands again. "I thought that Beka was dumping me, too."

He’d allow himself the luxury of guilt later. "Harper, I’m--I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am that I made you believe that, that I didn’t see that you believed it. But right now, you have to leave the ‘net, you’re very sick, and we need to get you to med-deck."

Harper raised his head again. "How sick?" Frowning.

"Very damned sick. Whatever pulled you farther down into the water by your leg is toxic as hell."

Harper stared at him, shuddered. "God. A spiny eel, that’s the only thing--" Another shudder. "I’m not going to make it."

"The hell you aren’t." Dylan said it grimly. "You don’t get out of work that easily, Harper. I’m not going to let you die on me, but we need to get out of here."

Harper jerked away from him, got to his feet. "What the hell do you care anyway? You can get another engineer." 

It was like being punched in the gut. He looked up at Harper. "I do care. Live with it." Roughly.

Harper stared at him again. "I didn’t even think you _liked_ me," he said wonderingly. "Well, I mean, I didn’t think you actually didn’t like me, I just...." He ran his fingers through his hair, scowled. "Spiny eels kill."

"The K’ri clinics don’t have Andromeda’s facilities, Harper. Or her resources." He rose, sensing a shift. "You’re not going to die."

Harper looked away, took a step away from him. "It hurts so much." Restless movement, the most normal thing he’d seen of Harper since--well, since he’d snapped at Harper in the middle of the night. And this wasn’t even real. 

"I know. It’s going to. But you won’t be alone, Harper, and it won’t be long. Trance is already there, and Rommie’s got an anti-toxin. I can’t tell you it’s going to be fun, you know that."

Harper nodded without looking at him. "I did something really stupid." Shaky voice.

Dylan’s stomach rolled, a sensation he tucked away for later examination--how in the _hell_ could his stomach do that when he wasn’t even aware of his body at the moment? "You hit the Pipe on purpose." Softly.

Harper still wouldn’t look at him. "Yeah." Faintly. 

Dylan closed his eyes briefly. "Oh, Harper." At some level he’d known it, feared it, hadn’t wanted to be sure. Hadn’t wanted to know that it had been his fault, he supposed.

"Don’t tell Beka." Harper was looking at him finally. "Please?"

"You’re letting me off the hook, you shouldn’t do that."

Harper frowned. "How?"

He rubbed his face again. "Harper, I did something that made you believe that Beka would betray you. Worse, I didn’t even see it." And this was getting them nowhere. "Look, can we talk about this later? We need to, but right now, we need to get you back out of here. Please."

Harper shivered. "I’m not sure I can." Very faintly.

Rommie shimmered into shape between them. "I can help," she told Harper gently. "Dylan’s right, it’s important that we get you to med-deck."

"The anti-toxin?" Dylan looked at her.

"I’ve given him an injection, but there appear to be spines lodged deep in the muscle. Evidently, when Dylan pulled you up, they broke off inside."

Like he needed more reasons to feel guilt, Dylan thought ruefully. "All right, Rommie, let’s do it."

Flash of light and then the shock of body awareness and he tore the visor off, sank back down next to Trance. "How is he?"

Quick glance at Harper’s face. "He’s back, Dylan, unplug him."

Harper’s eyelids fluttered, he groaned.

Dylan yanked the lead out of the console, removed it more gently from Harper’s port. They’d moved Harper to an AG stretcher, he leaned back on his heels to let it rise. Rev helped him to his feet and he straightened to find Tyr watching everything from the doorway, one eyebrow raised in query.

"Don’t ask," he muttered, walking past Tyr to follow the stretcher.

"I’m not." 

Thank god.

  


* * *

He’d been right, it did hurt like hell. Worse than hell. It felt like he was being consumed by something, which, if he was tracking enough of Trance and Rommie’s conversation, was really pretty close to the truth. He was hot and he was freezing, and the tip of his nose might be the only thing that didn’t actually hurt, but Dylan had told the truth, too, he wasn’t alone, Dylan was right next to the bed he was presently lying on.

And his presence was more comforting than Beka’s, given that Beka was snapping and snarling at everyone but him. Although that fact in itself was comforting. 

He felt incredibly stupid. Worse than stupid. Lower than stupid. And Dylan just kept nodding encouragingly, took hold of his hand gently, and kept talking to him, even if Beka’s snarling and Trance and Rommie’s cryptic medical words kept him from following.

Someone got his boots off. He thought it was Beka. Then Beka came up to his side, smiled shakily at him. "Hate to do this to you, but the pants have got to come off."

Big deal. He nodded and tried to undo the waistband one-handed--he was oddly reluctant to let go of Dylan’s hand--but Beka batted that hand out of the way, did it herself. "Okay, can you lift up?"

Fine, he could do that. At least until Beka got them down to his thighs and something exploded in his right leg, agony so intense he felt the world slipping away from him.

"Hang on!" Dylan’s fingers held him in the real world, "Cut them off, Beka, inside seam. Stay with me, Harper, come on."

He couldn’t get his breath, the pain was that big. Hell, it was fucking enormous. He had to concentrate on getting one breath, then another, and Dylan was all that anchored him, everything else fuzzed out. Suddenly, Dylan leaned over, slid an arm under his shoulders, and rolled him onto his side; he nearly screamed at the jolt and something cold hit his back.

Dylan’s breath was warm on his ear, Dylan’s voice was soft. "Easy, Harper, just give it a minute, no more pain, I promise, just give it a minute."

He tightened his fingers, bit hard on his lip, and Dylan’s other hand was rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades. It felt good, and not just because Dylan’s hand felt cool and soothing. Live with it, Dylan had said, and it was so unlike Dylan that he trusted it. 

The pain suddenly melted away, leaving a weird sort of pins and needles sensation for a minute, and then nothing. Really nothing. He panicked, tried to push Dylan away. "I can’t feel my legs!"

Dylan held on to him. "Easy, it’s just a neural block, you’re okay, Harper, hey, it’s just a block." Again and again until Harper could make sense of it, calm voice, soft voice.

Harper took in another deep breath, let it out. Blinked hard. "Oh."

"That’s better." Dylan began rubbing his back again. "Okay?"

He nodded. "I’m cold."

"His temp’s coming down." Beka’s voice, from farther away. "Trance, take a look at this, please."

He felt himself drifting, not quite sleep. Felt Dylan’s fingers squeeze hard.

"You stay with me, Harper. You stay with me and by god, I’ll get you to the next competition myself."

He fought to stay conscious. "...you give me your word?"

"Done." Dylan’s thumb rubbed his knuckles. "So hang in there, Harper, or it’s no free, all-expenses paid trip."

If he hadn’t felt so miserable, he would have laughed. Or cried. He wasn’t sure which. If Dylan were crazy enough to offer it to him, he’d take it, hell if he wouldn’t, and all he had to do was stay conscious. "Talk to me."

"Okay." Dylan leaned over him, began some long and mostly incomprehensible story about the High Guard Academy, but that was okay.

He watched Dylan’s eyes and mouth and that kept him focused enough to hang in there until something began to burn on his hip. "Ow, that hurts."

"You can feel that?" Dylan’s brows drew together dangerously. "Trance?"

"It’s the anti-toxin, Dylan." Trance sounded distressed. "But he shouldn’t be feeling it."

Something cold stung his back again, same place and he almost lost, almost slipped into the grey place, but hell if Dylan didn’t call him back, talking to him, hell if Dylan didn’t keep him there until finally, finally, they let him lie on his back again, his head propped up with a pillow.

Only then did he get a blanket, and it was warmed, too, and his eyelids felt heavy. "Can I go to sleep now?" he asked Dylan blurrily.

"Hell, yes." Warm smile. 

Weird, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that smile from Dylan. "You gonna keep your word?"

"Hell, yes." Dylan rubbed Harper’s knuckles with his thumb again. "Wouldn’t miss it."

He considered that as his eyes closed. Maybe Dylan really had stayed to watch him compete, even if he’d come for another reason. Maybe all that relaxation and fun hadn’t just been a mirage or pity or Dylan being tactful and diplomatic. "Teach you," he mumbled, "You’d like it."

"I’ll bet I would." Gentle voice.

He fell asleep still holding on to Dylan’s hand.

  


* * *

Harper lay very still, huddled under the blankets Trance had brought for him. All except for his leg, which was encased from hip to ankle in one of Rommie’s more arcane medical machines. Something about flushing the toxin out of damaged tissue in an effort to limit the damage, he thought Rommie had said.

"You can let go, he’s asleep." Beka’s expression was a mixture of truculence and something Dylan couldn’t identify.

He looked up at her, smiled ruefully. "He’s got a good grip, I don’t want to wake him up. When he’s all the way gone, he’ll relax, time enough."

Her mouth quirked. "I want to know what happened, Dylan, and don’t give me that bullshit. Harper’s never had a death wish in his life, and this whole--there’s something wrong about it, something you’re not telling me."

"Some things aren’t mine to tell." He held her gaze. 

She scowled at him. "How did you get him to come out?"

He looked back at Harper, felt his throat tighten up. "I told him he was really sick." He was getting too damned good at lying, and the urge to confession was strong enough to make his knees wobble. But he’d promised Harper not to tell. "I told him what the diagnosis was."

"That took thirty minutes?" Pointedly.

"He thought it was going to kill him anyway." It was partly true. "Painfully. I had to convince him it wouldn’t."

"He’s still going to be very sick," Rommie said. "We can flush what’s left out of his system and we can flush the dead and dying cells out of his system, but it’s going to take time for him to recover."

"How long?" Diverted from Dylan, Beka scowled at Rommie.

"That depends. With Harper’s immune system, we have to be very careful."

"Beka, he’s going to be fine." Dylan felt compelled to offer some kind of reassurance. "And it doesn’t matter how long it takes, you know he’s got the time."

She looked at him angrily, but he held her gaze until she nodded. She looked down at Harper and her expression softened, she reached out to smooth down a particularly unruly spike. "If you did this, Dylan," she said softly, "I swear to you--"

He interrupted. "If I did this, believe me, you couldn’t make me feel any more monstrous than I already would."

"Beka," Rev said, rescuing both of them, "Beka, Harper needs rest, that’s his best medicine now that Rommie and Trance have done their work. Dylan, would you like a chair?"

"Thanks, Rev, that would be very nice."

Beka hesitated. "We’re still going to talk."

"Eventually. Beka, if you want to know, maybe you should ask Harper."

"But not now," Rev insisted and slid a chair over. "Beka, come."

She went, albeit reluctantly. Dylan sat down, marveled at Harper’s grip. "You’re supposed to be asleep," he said softly, but Harper only sighed. He peered at Harper, saw the utter relaxation of Harper’s facial muscles, and realized that Harper really was asleep. Safely asleep.

Trance came over, adjusted the sensors. "Dylan, would you like some coffee?"

"Please, that would be wonderful." He was only just now aware of how tired he was, of how strained muscles ached. "I’ve had a busy day." Drily.

"Would you mind telling me what happened?" Trance offered him a smile. "I sort of joined the story late."

"Harper--wiped out spectacularly in the finals." He was tired of saying it. "He nearly drowned." He rubbed his face with his free hand. "To tell you the truth, Trance, I’m exhausted. Swimming that rip was damned hard, and then getting Harper to breathe wasn’t a treat. Could you push another chair over here, I’d like to put my feet up."

Trance smiled, tucked the blanket more securely around Harper. "Coffee and another chair coming up."

Sinking back, Dylan rubbed Harper’s knuckles again, felt his spirits sink to match his energy level. Thought back over the last few days and winced as it suddenly became clear to him. He’d told Harper that he’d come to tell him not to come back. He’d apologized, but that must have been the signal to Harper that it had been Beka’s decision. God, god, god, this was what came of letting his temper loose, nothing but disaster after disaster that could have proven fatal.

Harper had intended to kill himself. Harper, the perennial survivor, who had somehow managed to escape Earth, who had lived through a hellish childhood, _Harper_ hadn’t merely intended, he’d made a very serious effort that would have succeeded if not for one very oblivious Dylan Hunt and his mother’s heavy gravity genetic engineering. Because of Dylan’s temper, because of Dylan’s failure to make his meaning clear once that temper had been lost.

Trance returned pushing a chair and carrying a mug of coffee. "Ah, your captain thanks you."

She dimpled at him, glanced at Harper’s monitor. Dimpled again. "He’s doing great, Dylan. Honestly. Rommie’s anti-toxin really worked." She touched Harper’s hair lightly. "Poor Harper. And he lost his board, too, I’ll bet."

He hadn’t even thought of that. "I think maybe the board hitting first broke some of his momentum. I can’t believe he doesn’t have anything more broken than his ribs."

"Well, he doesn’t." Trance looked at Harper again, her expression solemn. "The ribs aren’t so bad, but when he starts getting restless, I’ll need to wrap them for him."

Dylan took a sip of coffee, stroked Harper’s knuckles, and brooded. "Trance, how much damage did the toxin do to him?"

She looked back at him. "It’s really too soon to say. But we’ll be watching his hematocrit level pretty closely. And making sure there wasn’t any kidney damage. The human liver is pretty amazing, and with the anti-toxin, he should be able to flush everything out without any trouble." She smiled again, reassuringly. "Even if there is, Dylan, you know we can handle it here. On K’ri--well, it’s good you got him back here so quickly."

He nodded absently. Harper’s hand wasn’t as hot. That, he thought, was a Good Thing. And he was so tired, so damn tired. Sitting here with Harper clutching his hand was as restful as anything he’d find in his own quarters. 

His blindness had caused this. He was going to do whatever might be necessary to mend it without further trampling Harper’s feelings. It was too easy to take Harper at face value, cocky and maddening and bright and confident. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  


* * *

Being sick was boring. Harper had always known that, had always fought it, but this time he was good, well-behaved, stunningly obedient. He knew Beka thought he’d lost his mind or was sicker than anyone was telling her, but the simple truth was that he was mortified. Ashamed.

Dylan hadn’t told Beka. That amazed him. And didn’t. Dylan took his word seriously, he knew that, but Harper could very easily see matters reaching a point where Dylan might tell Beka if he thought that something else superseded his word to Harper.

But he hadn’t. 

In spite of the fact that Beka was obviously furious at him. 

"Jeez, Beka," he finally said hoarsely, the third morning after their return to the Andromeda, "Give the guy a break, will you? He didn’t _do_ anything. I just made a mistake." Which was truth, sort of. He just wasn’t discussing what _kind_ of mistake he’d made. Mistakes. Whatever.

Beka gave him a long look. "I’m not going to interrogate you now," she finally said, her voice gentle, "But I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Harper. You’re too good to make that kind of mistake, you’ve competed in those waters before."

He let his head fall back on the pillow, sighed theatrically. "You’re right. Dylan sanded down one edge of my board so that I couldn’t control it and caught the damn Pipe, and then to avert suspicion from himself, dove into the fucking Pipe and kept me from drowning or being eaten by a spiny eel." His shudder was genuine. He couldn’t even stand to look at his leg when Rommie or Trance cleaned the wounds or checked it. "He decided he liked the idea of feeding me to Magog better. More torture that way."

Beka’s eyes narrowed. "Ha. Ha. Ha."

"Beka, you and I both know that nobody gets out of the rip. I’m telling you, Dylan is some kind of superhuman even if he’s not Nietzschean."

Her mouth twitched. "Okay, okay, maybe I’m being paranoid. But he admitted he hit you."

"I guess. I don’t remember." He eyed her. "Why don’t I remember, you ask? I don’t remember because I didn’t have a pulse and I wasn’t breathing! Go figure."

Beka folded her arms. "You know," she said conversationally, "If I hit you in the back of the head, it wouldn’t hurt your leg at all."

"Trance will protect me," he told her tranquilly. "And Rev. And Rev’ll tell Dylan."

"Brat." But she said it affectionately, so it wasn’t so bad.

Across the room, Trance giggled. "He’s been very good, Beka."

Harper grinned. "See? If you hit me, you’ll end up on the captain’s shit list."

"There is that," Beka agreed and narrowed her eyes. "Are you seriously telling me that for four days, you and Dylan and Mahali just _hung out_ together?"

Harper nodded. "Basically, yeah. Hey, maybe the guy needed a vacation before he had to come here and try and sell the Commonwealth, why ask me?"

"Harper, when he left here he was seriously in a rage. He _stole_ the Maru."

"He just borrowed it." He smiled at her suddenly. "And he bought the beer."

Beka stared, threw her hands up into the air. "Okay, okay, okay, you all did that guy bonding thing together, and he wasn’t mean to you, and even if he hit you, it was well meant. He _still_ took the Maru without even telling me."

He let his eyes widen. "You mean he didn’t even tell you he was going?"

Beka scowled. "Brat."

Trance giggled again. 

"I want out," Harper said and shifted restlessly. The thing over his leg was driving him totally, incredibly batshit. "When can we get rid of this thing, Trance?" 

"Rommie says maybe two days."

He banged his head on the pillow. "It itches!"

"No, it doesn’t." Trance grinned at him.

Harper banged his head again. "Beka, make her take it off."

Beka regarded him thoughtfully. "You’re whining. You must be getting better."

"Of course he’s getting better," Dylan said, coming in with a multi-CD case. "He’s got an all expenses paid trip coming up. Can you imagine Harper missing that?" He winked at Harper.

Beka started to draw herself up, narrowed her eyes at Harper again. "No, I suppose not." Suddenly thoughtful.

Beka was dangerous when she was thoughtful. Slightly alarmed, Harper looked back.

"Well, I’ll let you guys bond in peace," she said, almost purring. 

God. He should have known.

Dylan hesitated, eyed her. "What?"

"You know. That guy bonding thing guys do." Beka waved vaguely. "Hanging out and drinking beer."

Dylan looked at Harper, then back at Beka. "He’s drinking beer?"

Beka smirked and went out.

Dylan watched her, obviously completely confused.

"I’m not drinking beer," Harper told him. "Trance won’t let me."

"Good for Trance." Dylan seemed to recall why he’d come in. "Ah. I noticed you were getting a little restless this morning, figured you could do with some entertainment."

Pushing himself up a little, Harper regarded the case with interest. "What kind of entertainment? Those better not be manuals."

"That would be work, not entertainment." Dylan flashed him a grin. "I, ah, took the liberty of looking through Rommie’s access logs to figure out what you might like."

Rocked, Harper nodded, blinked at the case. 

"Some vids, some books." Dylan tapped the case. "I figure that ought to hold you for the evening, at least." Dryly.

He grinned, opened the case, and started going through the titles. "You really did check the logs," he marveled. "Oh, I haven’t seen this one, is it the complete version?"

Dylan leaned over, grinned. "Oh, yeah. Totally loony, but it’s one of mine. Friend of mine worked in the university archives pirated a copy for me when I was a cadet and I still feel guilty all these years later. I figure sharing it will lessen the burden." 

"Glad to help," Harper said solemnly and then they were both laughing. " _Terminator_. Oh, shit, you’ve got both of ‘em!"

"Hey, there are three, and all three are in there. And _Alien_."

Harper grinned. "Good friend?"

"The very best." Dylan tried to keep a straight face, chuckled anyway, and gave it up. "How are you doing today?"

"Better." Harper looked down suddenly, embarrassed, glanced over his shoulder to see if Trance was out of earshot. "Hey, listen, I’m really sorry--"

Dylan’s fingers touched his mouth. "Nothing to apologize for, except maybe scaring me out of the next ten years of my life." Serious expression. "I meant what I said, Harper, I can’t even think of how to apologize for making you believe--" He stopped and Harper glanced over his shoulder, saw Trance approaching with a covered tray. 

Yay. Dinner.

"You won’t believe what they’re making me eat," he mock-grumbled.

"Can we put him up a little farther today?" Dylan arched an eyebrow at Trance; she nodded and Dylan fiddled with the bed control so that Harper could sit nearly upright.

"He ignores me anyway," Trance said mildly. "Except when he’s too tired."

"That’s all I do--sleep--anyway," Harper grumbled and this time it wasn’t pretend. 

"Which is why we’re giving you healthy food," Trance said cheerfully. "His hematocrit is still low, but his leg is healing nicely and there’s no sign of kidney damage."

Harper scowled, waved his hand in front of her. "Hello, _he_ is sitting right here."

"I was talking to Dylan."

"Trance," Dylan said gently. "He has a point, it’s difficult being a patient and having people talk over you."

Harper’s head turned so fast that his neck almost hurt. And then, even if it didn’t, his throat ached. He tried to roll his shoulders, but in spite of Rommie’s treatment, there were still sore muscles there. "S’okay, I’m just cranky because they won’t take this thing off my leg. Sorry, Trance."

She gave him a long look, leaned in to hug him suddenly. "That’s okay, Harper. I should have realized." Sunny Trance smile. "Try and enjoy your dinner, I snuck in a few things to cheer you up. Dylan, do you want something?"

Abruptly, Dylan looked embarrassed. "Oh, I’ll get something later, I just thought I’d see if we could keep Harper occupied." He smiled at Harper. "An occupied Harper is a less dangerous Harper."

"True," Harper agreed and lifted the lid from his tray. Things were looking up; there was at least a bottle of juice instead of the endless quarts of water Trance made him drink. Some kind of stew, probably as bland as shaka paste--but when he tasted it, he found Trance had seasoned it just the way he liked it. "Mmm, you need some of this, Dylan."

Dylan arched an eyebrow, looked at Trance, and cleared his throat.

Suddenly inspired, Harper pointed a finger at Dylan. "I bet if you go and get out of that uniform Trance could get you some and have it all ready by the time you got back."

Dylan looked down at himself. "Is there something wrong with my uniform?"

"You don’t slouch." Harper kept his expression deadpan. "If you’re gonna watch vids like this, you have to be able to slouch."

"I don’t slouch anyway," Dylan protested.

"Yes, you do. You slouched on K’ri. Especially when drinking beer."

Dylan opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "That’s the heavy grav effect of the beer, that’s not slouching."

Rocked again, Harper laughed. "Oh, right."

Trance giggled.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Well, I need to find a suitable vid surface for you anyway, I couldn’t remember if there was a decent screen in here for the patients. I’ll get one brought in."

"Rank has privileges?"

"Right. Cold showers." Dylan grinned ruefully. "I’ll be back."

"I’ll get you a tray," Trance said happily. Dylan left and Trance ruffled Harper’s hair. "You’re definitely feeling better."

"Hey, better food, good vids, what more can a guy ask? Except maybe to get this thing off his leg."

"Nice try." Trance ruffled again, turned, and walked off, her tail swinging merrily from side to side.

Harper looked down at the CD case again. Jeez, he was hard up if a bunch of vids gave him warm fuzzies, but hell if he could help it.

He just had to stop thinking about his stupidity. Dylan wasn’t going to tell, wasn’t going to mention it unless Harper did, and... and while all that didn’t do a hell of lot to make him stop thinking wistfully about Dylan, it felt good to have someone else he could trust. There weren’t a lot of that kind out in the universe.

Trance was right, he was feeling better, and it had nothing to do with his injuries.

  


* * *

"What am I looking at?" Dylan glanced at Rommie. "And is it good or bad?"

"It’s very good," Rommie said. "Harper is healing surprisingly well, with surprisingly little complication. There was some sloughing of dead muscle, but less than I would have expected, given Harper’s various susceptibilities. We’re still seeing some problems with red blood cells and his hematocrit, but it’s gradually coming back up, and Trance has succeeded in getting him to drink the fluids necessary to push his red cell production up."

"That _is_ good. Why am I looking at it?"

"Because it shouldn’t have happened." Rommie’s tone was dry. 

He glanced at her again. "What?"

She touched her console controls. "There, look at the scans side by side."

He had to study them for a moment to make out what he was seeing, broke out in a cold sweat when comprehension came. "He should have died."

"Not that I’m complaining, but that was a possibility," Rommie said dryly. "Given the level of damage the toxin did, he should--at the very least--be in coma and on full life support, not sitting up and complaining about his leg being immobilized." 

Dylan swallowed hard. "But he _is_ sitting up and complaining."

"Yes, he is." 

He looked at Rommie. "And?"

"Trance has been caring for him, and of course she began emergency treatment before I arrived with the anti-toxin." Rommie was looking at the screen, amused. "I don’t think any of Trance’s patients actually die, do you, Dylan?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it and considered. "Not that I’m aware of. Unless they’re already dead when they arrive. And then, of course, the hydroponic gardens are thriving."

"Indeed they are." Rommie folded her arms, arched an eyebrow. "If Harper continues to mend at this rate, I daresay he’ll be back on duty within a few standard weeks."

Dylan nodded. "I hope he doesn’t have to have that thing on his leg all that time."

"No, I think it’s safe to remove it. Some mild exercise to start rebuilding the muscles." Rommie nodded decisively. "In fact, given these readings, I can remove it now."

"That ought to make Harper very happy." Dylan looked thoughtfully at the scans. "Huh. Well, Beka has always said that Trance is her good luck charm."

"Or something."

"Or something," he agreed dryly.

They walked out of the medical officer’s office and heard Harper’s voice. "Please, Trance? Just one little Sparky?"

"You can’t have any yet, Harper. Caffeine is _not_ good for your kidneys at the moment."

"My kidneys are _afloat_." Harper sounded irascible.

"Good, that’s good for them." Trance’s tone was prim.

Dylan grinned. "Harper, don’t badger the medical staff."

Harper flopped back on the pillow unhappily. "One measly little Sparky."

Dylan ruffled Harper’s hair, unable to resist. "Your system is clean now, you can’t be complaining about a caffeine headache."

Harper sighed. "I miss it."

"Soon," Dylan said kindly. "I’ll get you some myself."

"Yeah?" Considering look. "For real?"

"As soon as Trance says it’s okay."

"Deal." Harper leaned up on his elbows to watch Rommie. "Hey, you’re gonna take it off?"

"I certainly am." Rommie touched the controls and the machine made some unsettling sounds. 

Harper hissed. "That’s weird." Shakily.

Dylan’s hand, entirely divorced from good sense, settled on the back of Harper’s neck. "This is a good thing," he reminded Harper.

"Yeah." Quick flicker of a grin, but the muscles under Dylan’s fingertips were tense. He offered his other hand and Harper flushed, took hold of it. 

Hiss of release and Rommie rolled the unit away, leaving one pale and battered leg.

"I can’t look." Harper’s voice was shaky.

"I’ll look for you." Dylan leaned forward, winced. 

"It looks worse than it is, Harper." Trance patted Harper’s hair. 

"That’s good," Dylan said doubtfully. "Okay, Harper, it looks pretty ragged, but not like it did. It’s mostly like you’re molting. Badly."

"Molting?" Harper squinted, shifted. Dylan helped him sit up. "God. That’s awful."

"It’s been prettier," Dylan agreed. There was no raw flesh, just pale sloughed spots with pinkish edges. 

He suddenly realized he was still holding Harper’s hand, but felt oddly reluctant to let go. "Are you doing all right?"

"Yeah, I think so." Harper nodded, brightened suddenly. "Hey, I don’t have to stay here any more."

"Actually, Harper," Rommie began.

"Only if you promise to rest," Trance began.

Harper looked at Dylan expectantly. "Oh, no," he began, shaking his head. "Don’t bring me into this."

Like he had a chance of winning that one while Harper’s hand was still in his.

Trance changed directions suddenly in the middle of the argument. "You know, Rommie could be right, you really should be monitored for a few more days. And you’re only going to be bored in your quarters."

Dylan looked at her in surprise, but she was looking at Harper. "Trance?"

"You know he gets in trouble when he’s bored, and I really don’t want him overdoing, that would _not_ be good." Primly.

Harper’s expression was desperate. "Oh, come on, I’m on the ship, Rommie can monitor me."

"There is that," Rommie agreed.

"I don’t think he should be all by himself in his quarters," Trance said stubbornly.

Dylan felt almost dizzy. "All right, all right, we can think this through. Trance, what exactly is the problem with Rommie monitoring him?"

"Monitoring him is all very well, but he shouldn’t be alone." Trance gave him a narrow look. "Especially at night."

"I’m sleeping at night," Harper said plaintively.

Dylan held up a hand. "So the solution is easy. He just needs to bunk with someone for a while."

Harper’s expression was appalled. "With who?"

"Whom," Rommie corrected.

Dylan sighed. Self-indulgence, he thought darkly. "My quarters," he told Harper gruffly. "Rommie, get a bed moved into the living area."

Harper’s jaw dropped.

Trance looked satisfied. "That would work."

"Wait a minute," Harper said, "I’m not under arrest here, why can’t I just--"

"No." Trance said firmly, and then beamed when Harper’s mouth shut.

"Well, you can always stay here," Dylan said gently, feeling a bizarre mixture of relief and disappointment.

"This really sucks." Harper scowled. "I’m not that sick."

"Yes, you are." Rommie said it mildly. "You’re much healthier than you ought to be, frankly."

Harper blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"

Dylan opened his mouth, but unsurprisingly, Trance beat him to it. "She means that you’re doing amazingly well, and we just want to make sure that continues."

Rommie glanced at Dylan and her eyebrow rose.

"It’s up to you," Dylan said, pretending he hadn’t seen it. "I’m sorry, but I have to respect the opinion of my medical staff, Harper, and if they think a little extra monitoring is needed, you’re going to have to put up with it. I told you, you scared the hell out of us."

Harper blinked at him, frowned. "Okay, fine. If it gets me out of here--you sure you want to put up with me?"

"I put up with you for four days on K’ri." Dylan grinned suddenly. "You aren’t that hard to put up with, surprisingly. Housebroken, relatively neat--I don’t really see a problem."

After a moment, Harper shrugged. "Hey, it’s your privacy, if you don’t mind, I don’t." He suddenly seemed to realize his fingers were still laced with Dylan’s and blushed. "Oh, sorry." He let go as if Dylan’s fingers were hot.

Dylan ignored this, although if he thought about it he was probably going to turn red, too. "All right. Rommie, see to that bed, please. Perhaps his own bedding would be comfortable." He lifted an eyebrow at Rommie, who was still looking at Trance.

"Let’s see if you can walk first," Trance suggested. "But before we try that, we need to put some dermaseal on you."

"Oh, great." Harper looked at his leg askance. "At least I won’t have to look at it."

"The down side is that dermaseal itches," Dylan said helpfully.

"Thanks, I forgot about that." Harper rolled his eyes, sighed. "Well, at least I still have a leg."

"At least you’re alive," Trance said tartly.

Another roll of the eyes.

Dylan had to look fixedly at Rommie to keep from laughing. "So you’ll see to it that he gets settled? I’m on my way to command."

Rommie nodded, already moving toward one of the cabinets. "Understood."

Unable to prevent himself, Dylan ruffled Harper’s hair. "Cheer up, you’ll be back on duty and annoying Tyr in no time."

"Something to look forward to." Grudging smile in return. 

Dylan was still chuckling when he reached the command deck.

Tyr gave him an odd look. "You’re amused?"

"Harper," he said mildly. "Struggling with the rigors of convalescence and medical care."

Tyr arched an eyebrow and said nothing more.

Beka gracefully left the pilot’s seat. "So, how is he?"

"According to Rommie, he’s doing splendidly." He said it dryly. "Better than he should be."

"That’s Harper," Beka said cheerfully, "Messing with people’s expectations."

Dylan smiled faintly. "True. I think at the moment he’s just happy to have his leg free again."

Beka brightened visibly. "Really? That’s great. I’ll, uh, leave you to doing what you do best."

He wasn’t sure what that meant. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know. So he just nodded at her, frowned as she strolled off the bridge.

  


* * *

Harper scowled at his leg. True, it looked a lot better than it did without the dermaseal, and even better with pants on, but it was still annoying as hell. And the worst part is that he had nobody to blame for it but himself.

"Ready?" Trance asked brightly.

"Ready," he agreed and swung his legs over the edge of the medical bed. 

Trance stood beside him, reached to steady him as he slid down. Okay, not too bad so far, time to try resting some weight on it, and when he did, it ached a little. Not bad, not bad, and he shifted so that his weight was balanced, felt a jolt that pushed him back up against the bed. "That was not a good idea, not a good idea at all." Panting a little.

Trance was holding on. "I know, it’s going to hurt a bit at first. But you have to get the muscles working again." Soothing tone.

It made him want to snap. "Okay, okay. Maybe it’s just...." He took in a breath, braced himself, and it wasn’t as bad the second time. "Still hurts."

"I know." Softly. 

He took a step, wobbled and she steadied him. It did hurt, and not just a little, but he got all the way across the med-bay before he had to stop. Then, before he could chicken out, he started out, grinned at Trance. 

She looked startled, but didn’t stop him; instead, she followed him out, staying close. The pain was a dull heat, and he figured that was pretty natural, considering the way it looked, but if he limped a little, he could handle it.

"What are you doing?" Beka stood ahead of them, hands on her hips, one corner of her mouth twitching upward.

Harper grinned at her. "Look, Ma, no hands."

Beka applauded, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and whistled. "You go!"

He had to lean against the wall to laugh. "Gee, boss, didn’t know you cared." He felt a pang at saying that, but Beka only laughed at him.

"Where are you headed? Rommie and Trance cut you loose?"

He rolled his eyes. "Sort of. Um, I get monitored."

"I didn’t want him to be alone at night," Trance said helpfully. "So Dylan said Harper could stay with him temporarily."

Beka’s eyes widened slightly. "The Captain’s Sanctum, you’re coming up in the world, Harper."

He rolled his eyes. "Hey, it’s just turnabout. He bunked with me on K’ri because there weren’t any damn rooms available." He was having enough trouble with the idea of sharing a room with Dylan again; he didn’t need Beka’s help there. 

Beka’s eyes sparkled. "Do tell."

"Ha ha." He pushed off from the wall and started off again. His good leg was starting to ache a little from limping, and Beka seemed intent on teasing and it was all very annoying.

"So how does he look naked?" Beka asked, falling into step beside him.

"Beka!" Trance was scandalized. 

Harper laughed shortly. "You really think he danced naked around the room in front of me? Jeez, Beka, get a grip on your hormones."

"The two of you were in a small hotel room together? Or did he spring for the luxury suite?"

"It was the same place we stayed last time you went with me." He tried to speed up a little. "I slept on the couch, he slept on the bed, and no, I didn’t see him naked." Which was mostly true, if you didn’t count moonlight and the night Dylan had gone for a swim. "Now, if you want to know what he looks like in shorts and a flowered shirt, I can tell you that."

Beka grinned. "Yeah?"

She was _really_ getting on his nerves. "Yeah, he looks relaxed."

"He slouches," Trance said helpfully, apparently trying to divert Beka.

"How do you know?" Beka asked, laughing.

"Harper said so." Trance dimpled. "At least, he does when they’re drinking beer."

"Everyone slouches when they’re drinking beer," Beka objected.

Harper gritted his teeth. Please, god, just let him get to Dylan’s quarters before he said something unwise.

"So you hung out on the beach together, drank beer, shared a room--anything else you haven’t told me?"

"I tried to do the dance of the seven veils, but I was laughing too hard to make it effective," he growled.

Beka wiggled her eyebrows. "Oooooh, what did he think?"

"I dunno, he was laughing too hard to say." He flung a desperate look at Trance.

"Beka," Trance chided, "Teasing is one thing, but I think you’re wearing him out."

Instantly, Beka looked contrite. "Hey, I’m just kidding you, Harper. It’s just good to see you up and about." Very serious tone, and he felt a pang of guilt. "Besides, it’s just funny, you and Captain Terrific being buddies."

"Why is that funny?" He stopped and stared at her.

Beka blinked at him. "Come on, Harper. Mr. Straight and Narrow and you? It’s like--" She gestured vaguely.

He couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or hurt. Or just being an idiot again. "Whatever." Oh, good, he was just a little distance from Dylan’s door. In the nick of time, because even his good leg felt wobbly. He swayed as he reached it, leaned against the wall.

Beka’s expression was worried. "Hey, lean on me, Seamus."

"Just... just give me a minute." His heart was thumping hard. "Wow, it caught up with me all at once, Trance."

Dylan’s door opened; he put his arm over Beka’s shoulder, let himself hobble in. A bed had been placed neatly against the low divider that separated Dylan’s bed from the rest of his quarters. He sank down on it and Beka nudged him up long enough to pull the blankets down. His own blankets, and that was nice, and his own pillows, and that was better, and he pulled them up, settled in, a little sweaty, a lot wobbly and suddenly totally wiped out. 

Beka frowned at him. "You okay?"

"Just tired." 

"Mad at me?" Her mouth twitched slightly.

"Nah." He grinned, even though there was a lump in his throat. He couldn’t be mad at her, at least not for long.

"Still friends?" Her eyes glinted with good humour.

"Damn right." He held up a hand and she high-fived him. It felt good, felt normal. Well, almost normal. "You got stuff to do?" Trying not to sound too needy.

"Nope. Turned things over to Dylan. Want some company?"

He grinned. "Oh, yeah."

"Cool. I’ll figure out where Dylan hides his vidplayer and screen and we’ll party down." She patted his hand.

"Sounds good to me," he told her, but he was asleep before she got the vidplayer started

  


* * *

Harper wasn’t alone when Dylan returned to his quarters; Beka sat in a chair near Harper’s bed, reading. When the door opened, she looked up, smiled, and put her fingers to her lips. Setting aside the book, she rose, pointed at the open door.

A little baffled, Dylan nodded, stepped back into the corridor with her, arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"He had a hard day," Beka said and laughed a little nervously. "Listen, Dylan, I just want to apologize, I know I’ve been a little hard on you over all this."

Ah. "That’s fine, Beka, I understand." He did _not_ want to accept an apology when he blamed himself anyway. "No need to apologize."

"Well, yes, there is, I really believed you had something to do with it. You were so angry when you left, I thought-- well, never mind what I thought, I should have known better."

He flushed. "Beka, I’m just as capable of bad behavior as anyone is, and the way I left, you were justified in your concern. So honestly, there’s no reason for you to apologize."

A little line appeared between her eyebrows. "Look, can you just say, apology accepted and leave it at that?"

He was being punished, that was all there was to it. "Apology accepted," he said drily. "All right?"

Beka smiled again. "Good. Keep an eye on him, he crashed quick enough that it was scary." Quick grin. "I made Trance check his breathing. But walking from med-deck down here really wore him out."

Dylan frowned. "Trance said he was okay?"

"Yeah, just that he’d exhausted himself. He did really well, though, didn’t fade until he made it."

Dylan nodded, looked through the open door. "Good point." He sighed. "I have to admit, I keep hearing big Ifs in my head, Beka. If you and I hadn’t been so busy arguing, if we’d gotten him to med-deck right away."

Her expression went somber. "I know. I’ve been doing the same thing." Then, awkwardly, "Maybe that’s why I’ve been so hard on you, you know, blaming myself was the alternative."

Touched, Dylan reached, clasped her shoulder. "Hey, Beka, that’s only human."

Beka patted his hand. "Yeah? How come you’ve been blaming yourself instead of me?" Wry smile. "Never mind, we’ll just get back into that whole weird loop about being responsible for everything in the universe."

He couldn’t help laughing. "Beka, I’m not that bad."

"Oh, yeah." But she grinned. "I’ll stop by later if you need a relief shift."

He laughed again. "Probably not. I’m going to finish up the captain’s bane, correspondence and paperwork, and then get some sleep."

"Sounds good to me. Don’t forget to feed him."

He turned toward the door, shaking his head. "Beka, he’s not a pet. Or a plant."

"All the more reason." She winked, turned down the corridor.

Still shaking his head, Dylan let the door close and stood there for a moment. Harper was definitely still out, one hand under his cheek, the other fisted loosely under his chin; Dylan crouched beside the bed, tugged pointlessly at the blankets, which were already up high enough.

Harper was dreaming, his eyes darting beneath closed lids. Normal dreams, evidently, no signs of distress, and that in itself was enough to cheer Dylan back out of brooding over Beka’s apology.

It didn’t, however, eliminate the correspondence he had to face. Sighing, Dylan rose, unfastened his jacket. He was, despite his best efforts to deny it to himself, exhausted. It had been a long seven days, between worrying about Harper and dealing with a government that had finally grudgingly agreed that they would consider joining a fledgling Commonwealth, not to mention his usual responsibilities onboard. 

Rummaging, he found casual clothes, stripped out of his uniform; he was so tired he was moving on automatic and he thought wistfully of letting the recordkeeping go for one night. It wasn’t as if he was actually submitting it to anyone at this point, and dammit, surely the world wouldn’t end if he waited until, say, tomorrow.

After all, he’d left the ship in Beka’s capable hands and returned to find decent records, an undamaged ship, and a crew that still functioned.

Loose pants, a sweater, and the hell with boots; he was going to make something hot to drink and relax before he decided.

Except that when he went around the divider, Harper was sitting up, muzzily awake, blowing any last remnant of good intentions to hell.

"Hey," he said, "I thought you were still asleep."

"I am." Harper rubbed his face with both hands. "I gotta, um, use the head."

Dylan pointed. "That way."

Brief grin. "Think I could take a shower?" Tentative tone.

"Ask Rommie. It’s fine with me." Dylan arched an eyebrow. "Towels are in the cabinet in there."

"Rommie?" A slightly plaintive note entered Harper’s voice. "Is it okay if I shower?"

"Yes, Harper." Rommie’s hologram appeared. "The dermaseal will behave just like your skin, no need to worry about it. I’ll send some dinner in for you with Dylan’s."

Harper beamed at her. "Thanks, Rommie." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and Dylan started forward. "No, it’s okay, I can do it. I walked here on my own." Harper grinned. "Even if I did crash after."

But watching Harper walk was painful; probably not as painful as it was for Harper, but it made Dylan’s throat ache to see it, to compare it to Harper’s usual cocky swagger. He looked away determinedly, started for his desk. Self-indulgence, he reminded himself; besides if he got these things taken care of, he could relax after.

And, said a little voice in the back of his mind, enjoy Harper’s company.

That was all he was going to enjoy, he told it sternly, and sat down at his desk. The bathroom door closed and several minutes later, he heard the shower go on. It allowed him to settle into the tedious task of responding to diplomatic correspondence.

He worked with a will and with the last of his logs entered, he became aware that the shower had stopped. No sign of Harper. Well, if Harper was wobbly, it would take a bit, no doubt, to towel dry and get back into clothes, and perhaps he should just check-- "Rommie?" Guiltily. "Is Harper doing all right?"

There was a rather long wait before Rommie answered, her tone reluctant. "Actually, he’s a bit lightheaded, but he said he’ll be fine if he just sits for a while."

Dylan frowned. "How long ago was that?"

"Several minutes." 

He hesitated. "I’ll check on him." 

"I don’t think he’ll be happy I told you." 

"Then I won’t tell him." He went to the bathroom door, tapped the comm. "Harper? You need anything?"

Faintly, "M’okay. I just got a little woozy."

He hesitated. "You want a hand?"

An audible sigh. "Yeah, I guess." Grudgingly.

At least he hadn’t just rushed in, Dylan thought, thinking of his own bouts of convalescence. It was annoying as hell not to be able to do anything normal without exhausting scant stores of energy; he opened the door with an override.

Harper was indeed sitting; he was huddled in the shower stall, one knee drawn up, his expression unhappy. "I guess I stayed in the hot water too long."

"Yeah, that happens." He kept his tone matter-of-fact. "I took a bad hit once in combat, chewed up my hip pretty good; first time I tried to shower, I passed out. Talk about embarrassing." He tossed a towel to Harper, grabbed the robe hanging next to the door. "Let’s get this on you before you get chilled."

Harper submitted to the robe, slid his arms in one at a time. "It’s gonna get wet," he muttered, then, "You really passed out?"

"Flat on my back. Whacked my head but good, gave myself a concussion. Kept me in the hospital three more days, and explaining how I came to have a concussion in the hospital was not a treat. I thought my commanding officer was going to kill herself laughing."

Harper grinned crookedly. "Oh, great." With the robe on and some dignity salvaged, he seemed happier. "Like getting a concussion wasn’t bad enough."

"It wasn’t the high point of my life," Dylan agreed. "You ready?"

"Yup." Harper used Dylan’s arm to lever himself to his feet, swayed a little. 

"Just hold on," Dylan advised. It was tempting to put an arm around Harper--it was tempting fate and other things, and Harper deserved better treatment than that. Besides, Harper was stubbornly independent, and getting hauled out of the shower, as he well remembered, was more than just a little embarrassing.

Harper was steadier after a moment, so Dylan more or less walked him back to his bed, went back for Harper’s clothes. Awkwardness set in immediately. 

"Ah, I’ll be right back," Dylan said, unable to think of a subterfuge to grant Harper some privacy. "Just, ah, I’ll only be a few minutes."

Harper sighed, grinned crookedly. "I’m not that shy, Dylan. Besides, you’ve seen me in my skin before this." He reached for his skivvies.

A little relieved, Dylan nodded. "True." And couldn’t entirely suppress the unworthy thought that Harper didn’t know just how much of his skin Dylan had seen, or in what condition.

Besides, the robe covered most of Harper. 

So he went back to close down his console, granting Harper that much privacy. "Dinner should be here any minute."

"Maybe I get better stuff now that I’m not sick." Harper brightened and balanced precariously to put on his pants.

"Maybe." Dylan grinned. "I see somebody brought your vids in."

Harper glanced over at him, swayed slightly as he got the pants up. "Oh, yeah. Beka was going to watch one with me, but I fell asleep." A grimace. "I hate being so freaking tired."

"Give yourself some time. I mean, god, Harper, you nearly died twice." Dylan put a hand over his heart. "I swear, you’re going to make my hair turn grey."

Harper grinned crookedly, but there was a shadow behind his eyes. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Hey." Dylan looked directly at Harper. "You made a bad choice, but I’m the one who gave you the reason." He took in a breath. "Harper--"

"It was still dumb." Harper said it in a rush, sat down on the edge of the bed. "I mean, I should have known. Beka would do it face to face, and hanging around pretending to have a good time isn’t exactly your style."

It touched him, touched him, and made his throat ache. Dylan went to sit on the edge of the bed beside Harper. "Maybe we were both a little off balance," he said softly and risked putting his hand on Harper’s shoulder. "I behaved badly, and you were nervous and focused on the competition, it tipped you toward believing something you wouldn’t ordinarily believe. And I did have a good time, Harper, never doubt it."

Harper ducked his head briefly, gave Dylan an achingly diffident smile. "So did I."

"That’s why you have to let yourself have the time your body needs. So I can play truant again and watch you compete."

The diffidence ebbed into delight. "You really mean that, don’t you?"

"Hell, yes, I gave you my word." He patted Harper’s shoulder, rose just as the door opened and the serving ‘bot rolled in.

"Whoa, room service." Harper’s eyes danced. 

"Rank hath its privileges." Dylan grinned, retrieved the trays from the ‘bot’s interior. "Fresh and hot. Mostly." 

Harper snickered, shed the robe, and pulled on his shirt. Dylan caught the wistful glance at the robe. "Hey, put that on, it’ll keep you warm until you get some food into you. You’re probably burning calories at an horrific rate, rebuilding muscle and strength."

Harper blinked, shrugged the robe on over his clothes. "How do you know so much about it?" he asked, usual semi-insolent tone.

"You haven’t seen all my scars," Dylan said drily. "Lancers take some hits."

"Ouch." Grimacing, Harper limped to the table. "Let me guess, this one is mine." Dolefully.

"It’s a little blander than mine, yeah." Dylan smiled sympathetically. "But look how well you’re doing. Besides, I bet Trance tampered a bit."

"That’s true." Harper brightened and pulled out a chair. 

They ate dinner, and while Harper wasn’t precisely up to his usual conversational speed, it was still damned good to listen to something approximating Harper’s usual stream of consciousness flow.

"I don’t think Beka could find your vidplayer," Harper finally said and yawned, startling himself. "Jeez, I just woke up."

"And took a hot shower and ate a pretty good sized meal." Dylan grinned and pointed at Harper’s tray. "What Trance calls a happy plate."

Harper snorted. "Oh, right." He put the cover back on the tray, got up to put it back into the ‘bot. Watching, Dylan saw him lean on the ‘bot, and another yawn escaped. 

He remembered days when he’d been lucky to get to the head and back without needing a nap. Remembered needing to do things for himself. It kept him from getting up and taking over, or offering to help Harper back to the chair or bed. "Vidplayer," he said, recalling where he was. "I don’t have the kind you mean, I play them directly from storage." He considered the placement of Harper’s bed, sighed. "You won’t be able to see the screen from there. I’ll do some shifting around."

Harper looked around. "Where’s the screen?"

"Hiding." Dylan smiled and got up to deal with the bed. Harper watched, clearly baffled, as he shifted it to the other side of the divider. "This has the added advantage of giving you a little more privacy," he told Harper, pushing it into place before he looked up. "Such as it is."

Harper was still leaning against the ‘bot, his gaze unfocused. "Oh. Thanks." 

Dylan frowned. "Harper?"

Harper looked at him. "Maybe--I don’t--I mean, this is a lot of trouble for you." Troubled expression. "Maybe I should have stayed in med-deck."

Something had just happened and he’d missed it. "Harper?" Softly. "If you’d be more comfortable there, okay. But as far as I’m concerned, this isn’t a lot of trouble. You’re good company, you don’t whine, and like I said earlier, you’re housebroken."

Harper looked away, muttered something.

Dylan took a step forward. "What?" Still softly.

Harper still wasn’t quite looking at him. "I mean, if you’re doing this because you’re feeling guilty, I told you, it was me being stupid."

Was he? He didn’t think so. In fact, he thought guiltily, it had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with Harper. "I’m not."

That didn’t seem to help. Harper muttered something again; he took another long step forward, put a hand on Harper’s shoulder. "What?"

"I don’t want to get used to it."

A little confused, Dylan looked around the room. "My quarters."

Exasperated look. "No."

Oh. He opened his mouth, closed it. Thought about it. "Well, I deserve that, I suppose."

Swift look upward that turned horrified. "That’s not--I didn’t--" Helpless gesture.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I may not understand." Ruefully.

Harper flushed. "I just don’t want to get too comfortable, because I know I make you nuts sometimes."

It undid him. "Harper--Harper, I can’t say that won’t ever happen, I am who I am, just as you are. But--" As helpless as Harper to say it.

Harper gave him a long look. Nodded suddenly. "Okay." Relieved. 

He hoped that meant what he thought it meant. "Is it going to offend your dignity if I help you over there? Because Rommie needs to get you a crutch or a cane or your good leg is going to end up hurting."

Harper blinked. "Oh. Um. Sure."

There was a moment of awkwardness as Harper got his arm around Dylan, but then it felt natural, and Harper seemed to manage a little better. A crutch or a cane, Dylan mused; that would give Harper additional support for the weakened leg and maybe make him feel a little stronger. "So what would you like to watch?" he asked, easing Harper down on the bed. "Hang on, I’ll bring up the menu, get the remote."

Harper blinked, blinked again as the screen rose from the floor at the foot of the bed. Dylan laughed at his startled expression. "You mean you didn’t realize it was there? I finally surprised you with something?"

Harper flushed, grinned. "Hey, I don’t pry around the captain’s quarters."

Dylan found the remote and brought it back to Harper. "Does the angle work?" He turned to look at the screen and pressed the control that brought up the file menu. "There, take your pick."

Harper’s eyes widened. "Oh, man, how come I’ve never seen this directory?"

"It’s mine." Dylan smiled, amused. "If you were too well behaved to check out the blueprints for my quarters, you were too well behaved to invade my directory." He winked.

Harper glanced at him, snickered. "Something like that. Hey, we weren’t pirates." But his eyes went back to the screen. "Oh, wow, look at this. This is a classic."

 _Kejiru’s Wake_ , Dylan noted and grinned. "It is? I just thought it was good fun."

"It’s a classic now." Harper glanced down at the remote, pressed to select. "I’ve never seen all of it, you can only find bits and pieces. I’ve got most of it, but there’s a section missing in first half."

That saddened him. "Well, you can enjoy the whole thing tonight."

Harper laughed. "If I can stay awake through the whole thing."

Dylan sat down on the edge of his own bed. "Maybe I better keep the remote." Lightly.

"Probably." Harper tossed it to him, swung his legs carefully up on the bed. "You’re right, I need a cane or something."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "I nearly forgot, I’m supposed to push fluids on you according to Trance. Juice or water?"

Harper grimaced. "Juice, I guess." He shifted on the bed.

Dylan eyed that, went to get the juice and found a cushion that would support Harper’s head and shoulders more comfortably; returning, he handed the juice to Harper, tucked the cushion firmly beneath Harper’s pillow. "Try that."

Harper looked at him, and that expression was oddly vulnerable. "You’re going to get me used to this and I’ll be obnoxious as hell. Well, more obnoxious."

"I’ll take that chance," Dylan said and gave in to the desire to touch Harper’s hair. Harper turned his head into that touch briefly and for an instant, he nearly leaned in. The instant passed, he smiled at Harper and got a diffident smile in return. "Let’s see if it helps." he said, gesturing.

Harper shifted on the bed, leaned back. "Works great." A little muted, but not unhappy. 

"Good." Dylan returned to his own bed, stretched out comfortably. Harper was here and alive and healing in body and spirit. He’d resisted his own impulse to take advantage of that and Harper was evidently comfortable, too.

There wasn’t much else he could ask for, right at this moment. Well, maybe there was, but he was damned if he would.

No matter how much he wanted it.

  


* * *

Concentrating on the vid became easier after Dylan had dozed off, Harper found, maybe because he was too aware of Dylan’s reactions to the vid, and why the _hell_ he should find that a turn-on was something he didn’t want to examine. Do not, do not, do not go there, he told himself and yet couldn’t resist looking over at Dylan’s sleeping self, stretched out in casual clothes with one arm over his eyes.

Maybe leaving Dylan’s robe on wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done. It smelled like Dylan. Hell, _he_ smelled like Dylan, he’d used Dylan’s soap. Which was sort of unnerving, on top of the robe. But he didn’t want to take it off, it was comforting. Dylan was comforting. 

That was pretty damned scary, really.

He glanced over at Dylan again. Bit his lip. If he was reading Dylan right-- but if he was reading Dylan wrong, he could be heading for serious disaster. Besides, he wasn’t in any condition to make moves on anyone, completely aside from the fact that Dylan didn’t seem to be the type to get off on invalids.

But Dylan’s arm had felt very good around him. His arm had felt very good around Dylan. 

And Dylan had wanted him to stay, to feel comfortable; he wasn’t so self-involved and insecure that he’d missed that.

He bit his lip again. Sat up shakily, not sure what he was going to do, but needing to do something.

Dylan woke instantly when he moved, peered at him, and paused the vid.

He took in a breath. "I can’t sleep. This bed--" He shrugged, heart thumping.

Dylan blinked, sat up. "Oh." Sleep-hazed voice. "There’s plenty of room here."

Harper’s pulse sped again. "I don’t wanna ruin your sleep." Tentatively.

Dylan raked a hand through his hair, blinked again. "You won’t." He rubbed his chin. "How’s the leg feeling?"

Harper grimaced. "You know."

"Huh." Dylan blinked again, stood up, and held out a hand. "I think Trance left something for that. Here, let me give you a hand."

He felt oddly shy. Took Dylan’s hand and hoisted himself up. Turned out he wasn’t exaggerating, his bad leg cramped, and badly, too. His knee buckled and he gasped, grabbed hard for Dylan, who simply swung him over to the larger bed. Curling up, he grabbed the sole of his foot, trying to straighten it; bizarrely, Dylan reached around, pressed a finger against Harper’s upper lip, hard, just under his nose. The cramp eased, leaving his eyes wet from tears of pain, but, god-- "What’re you doing?"

"Acupressure trick." Dylan’s other arm went around him. "Better?"

"Yeah." Shakily. "Lots."

The finger under his nose moved away and Dylan’s hand moved to his shoulder, rubbed it. "Deep breath."

He grinned and obeyed, let it out and hell if it wasn’t a lot better. Still ached, but the cramp had eased up nicely. "Magic trick."

Dylan’s breath was warm on his cheek. "Something like. Slide over and get rid of those pants, get under the covers. I’m going to look for those pills and get you some more juice."

He nodded shakily and obeyed. Dylan got up and went around the divider to the darkened half of his quarters, returned with juice and a small container. "One," he told Harper and handed him both. 

Naturally, the fricking label was in Vedran. Harper rolled his eyes and shook one tablet out, opened the juice and washed it down. Dylan reached over to the empty bed and grabbed the pillow, tossed it to Harper, shucked his own pants and got into bed. 

Harper’s pulse jumped again, but Dylan only took the juice from him, put it on the table beside the bed. Turned the lights down and restarted the vid.

Not quite close, but not far either, and Harper could almost feel the heat from Dylan’s body. He edged a little closer, heart thumping hard and Dylan didn’t seem to notice--except that Dylan put his arm out.

Blushing, he edged into that, found himself hugged and hugged back. 

"Harper," Dylan said softly and turned his head, looked at him, smiled a little drowsily.

Okay. Good. Good. But he was too scared to do anything more. Terrified. If he was reading Dylan wrong....

"You’re shaking." Concerned voice and Dylan’s hand rubbed his arm. "Cold?"

He shook his head, tongue-tied. He needed to _do_ something. He hadn’t been this scared since the first time he’d ever had sex, and that had more to do with the idea of Nietzschean raids and interruption than with the fear of fucking everything up that mattered to him. But Dylan wouldn’t make a move, he _knew_ Dylan. Dylan would be worried about taking advantage of him. _If_ he was reading Dylan right. "You have to promise me something," he whispered, and Dylan shifted closer to hear him better. "If I’m wrong, you gotta promise to forget everything."

Dylan’s expression was... he wasn’t sure what it was, he leaned in, brushed his mouth over Dylan’s.

Whoa. Dylan’s fingers curled around the back of his head and Dylan kissed back, and his heart was thumping hard enough he couldn’t hear anything but his own heartbeat.

Not that he was listening. Dylan kissed hungrily, like he was starving, and he was all over that, at least in spirit, and then Dylan broke away, took in a shaky breath. "This isn’t right." 

He nearly wept. "Sorry."

Dylan took another breath. "This has got to wait until you’re back on your feet." Regretfully. "God, Harper." Another kiss.

Which was okay, because it helped Harper process the idea that it wasn’t kissing him that was wrong, but the timing. He hoped.

"This isn’t," Dylan breathed, "The right time or place, god, I didn’t intend--"

"Shut up, Dylan."

Dylan shut up. Harper wriggled closer. "I get that it’s not the right time." He whispered it. "S’okay."

Dylan’s mouth brushed his temple, his eyelids. "Right." Ruefully. "Better than I do, probably." Another hug.

The tablet was kicking in. He felt pleasantly fuzzed and the ache in his leg was melting away. "For one thing, I’m drugged."

Dylan chuckled. "There is that, yes." One more kiss, this one gentle. "We’ll pursue this later."

He tightened his fingers in Dylan’s shirt. "You give me your word?"

Shaky breath from Dylan. "Yes."

That tablet was definitely kicking in. "Good." Happily. Muzzily.

Dylan rubbed the back of his head, stroking the spikes left by bedhead. "God, Harper."

"Mmmhmmm." He nuzzled Dylan’s shoulder and closed his eyes. "You smell good."

He thought Dylan said, "So do you." He wasn’t sure. 

But he was just sort of normally scared now, not terrified. And with that relief, he sank into sleep, letting deep water close over him....

  


* * *

"I think we should be able to do cell grafts today." Rommie’s tone was thoughtful as she studied the culture vials. "I’m glad I’d gotten DNA samples from Harper before this. With his immune system, it would be impossible to use synthetic."

Dylan nodded, glanced at Beka. "How much grafting is required?"

"Very little, really. The bone that was damaged by the spines is healing very well naturally. I’m more concerned about the muscle tissue that was damaged. Rebuilding is all very well, but I’m troubled by these two spots." Rommie pointed at the scan. "I think the grafting will take care of that."

"What other damage is there?" Beka had her arms folded, was frowning at the scan. "You’re just talking about his leg. What about the rest of him?"

"His hematocrit is still low, but is improving. Despite the near drowning, his lungs cleared up very quickly without scarring, and even though his liver and kidneys were both stressed, there is no apparent lasting damage. The only remaining concern is his leg." Rommie glanced at Beka. "He was extraordinarily lucky."

"He wasn’t lucky, he had Dylan." Beka’s tone was grim. "If you hadn’t gotten him back here...." She shuddered. 

Dylan remained silent.

"I’ve already discussed this with Harper," Rommie added.

"Good." Dylan sighed. Shook his head. "So much damage in so little time."

Rommie nodded. "But he’s doing remarkably well."

"Where is he now?" Dylan glanced at her.

"He’s on his way here. In fact, he should be walking in momentarily."

Dylan turned to look at the door, glanced at Beka. "He’s likely to be irritated."

Swift sidelong smile. "I can hear him now. Thanks Mom for worrying. Okay, let’s get out of here fast before he gets here."

He couldn’t help smiling back. "Agreed."

They were on their way back to command deck when Dylan said, "Beka, don’t give me too much credit. That was just instinctive. Rommie has better medical facilities than most of the worlds we visit."

She gave him a very direct look. "You were worried about him."

He nodded, shrugged. "That goes without saying."

One corner of her mouth lifted. "All that bonding, beer and surf and lush weather."

Dylan nearly gaped at her. "Beka--"

She grinned outright. "Please, I’m not stupid. He’s defending you, you’re telling me that certain things aren’t yours to tell--whatever else happened, Dylan, you got to be better friends than you expected."

That was fair enough. He nodded, even though he could feel the heat in his face. "True."

"Anyway, it’s really none of my business," Beka added.

He could swear she was smirking. He settled for making a noncommittal sound in his throat.

  


* * *

"You’re going to want to be careful not to push him too hard," Tyr commented, appearing in the doorway to med-deck. "Rebuilding muscle is going to take time, cell grafts or not, and pushing him too quickly is going to do more damage than good." He walked over to stand beside Trance, examined Harper’s leg critically. "And aside from moving around normally, he shouldn’t be doing anything until those grafts take."

Harper suppressed a flinch as Tyr reached out, but the touch was gentle and only on his kneecap. 

"You’re going to strain your knee if you get overeager," Tyr told him directly, his expression grave. "Which leads to a host of other complications."

Harper nodded, hissed as Trance began to reapply dermaseal. "Yeah. Okay." Tightly. Tyr looked at him, held out that hand. After a moment, baffled, Harper took it, gripped tightly as Trance hit a tender spot. "Oh, shit."

Trance glanced at him apologetically. "I’m sorry, Harper."

"Not your fault." He said it through clenched teeth, clenched his fingers around Tyr’s until the pain settled to manageable. "Sorry." To Tyr.

Tyr shrugged. 

That was Tyr. Harper watched Trance finish up the dermaseal, wondering what possible benefit Tyr could derive from letting his fingers be crushed, decided that his grip was hardly enough to crush UberTyr’s anything. Still, Tyr wasn’t exactly given to altruistic gestures, so he wondered.

It wasn’t enough to make him reject Tyr’s help in getting down from the medtable. "Thanks." Rommie had come up with a crutch, nicely padded.

"Now, you need to keep your weight off it today, Harper," Trance told him seriously. "I’ll look at it tomorrow, see how it’s progressing."

He nodded, conscious of new places that hurt. Pinpricks, almost, except there were a lot of them. It was like Rommie had used a scattergun approach on the grafts, and even though it was dumb to think this way, she hadn’t seemed to care much if it hurt. "Okay." Thinly. Maybe it was just that he was tired. Short session in physical therapy, but he was exhausted, a little shaky.

Trance studied him, her expression worried. "Can you make it back?"

"I’ll walk him back," Tyr volunteered, the second major Tyr surprise of the day.

Okay, Tyr wanted to know something, that was all it could be, although what in hell he could want was beyond Harper. It didn’t matter, he was grateful for the fact that Tyr was hardly likely to fuss over him. They made it back to Dylan’s quarters in slow stages, and Tyr made him stop to rest several times, lecturing him on conservation of energy.

"Even a fool knows when not to push the body’s limits," Tyr told him drily. "And I’ve never thought you were a fool."

"You didn’t? I could have sworn you called me a fool once or twice." Harper shut his mouth with a snap. "Sorry, temper’s a little short."

Tyr’s mouth curved slightly in amusement. "Actually, I seem to recall telling you not to be a fool."

Harper leaned on the crutch, wiped sweat with his shirtsleeve. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I forgot." The fact was, he didn’t care. Dylan’s quarters seemed impossibly far away at this point and even his good leg was wobbly.

"We’re nearly there," Tyr said softly. "Do you need help?"

Harper shook his head. "Just give me a minute." The burn along his nerves from the grafts was becoming a steady throbbing. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered. "Remind me never to do that again."

Tyr arched an eyebrow. "Surf?"

"No. Wipe out." He started forward again, found a decent rhythm that didn’t jar too badly and managed to reach Dylan’s door without collapsing. "Thanks." A little shortly.

Tyr shrugged. " _Was_ it an accident, boy? Or can you really have been so stupid?"

It shook him. "It was an accident." His heart thumped hard. "Why would I do something like that?"

"I don’t know." Tyr studied him. "It would be very unlike what I know of you, but Beka seemed convinced at first."

"Beka worries too much. Besides, what do you care anyway?" He wished Tyr would go away, preferably vanishing in a puff of smoke. The image made him grin. "One less kludge to annoy you."

"You have your uses." Tyr said it almost affectionately.

That rocked him. "I’m going to rest," he said, shaken further. "Thanks."

Another Tyr shrug and Tyr turned to go.

He pressed the door control, but it was still keyed only for Dylan. "Rommie?" A little desperately. The door slid open and he swung in, hung there on the crutch until it closed again, leaned back against it. "Thanks."

Rommie’s hologram appeared, looking severe. "You need to rest, Harper."

"I’m going, I’m going." He waited until his legs had stopped shaking. "Are those grafts supposed to hurt?"

"There’s sometimes a little pain at first." Rommie’s image frowned. "Take one of your pills, Harper. And lie down. You’ve worked hard today."

"Yeah, yeah." He reached his bed, dropped the crutch, and sank back. It took another minute to get the energy to pull his legs up. "I will." Except the pills were on the table between the two beds, and he couldn’t quite reach, and he was too goddamn tired and shaky to get them. "I’m okay now anyway."

Rommie frowned at him again and vanished.

He put his arm over his eyes and tried to breathe shallowly. Dumb, fucking dumb, and it was his own fault. He was tired enough, pain relief or not, that he drifted, the throb in his leg a constant counterpoint to his pulse, and nearly shrieked in surprise when someone touched him.

"Harper, sit up." Trance’s face above him, and her voice was very soft. "Just a little, there, open up."

He blinked at her, confused, focused in on her hand. Oh. Tablets. He opened his mouth, took a swallow of water to wash the pill--two?--pills down. "I thought I was only s’posed to take one," he said blearily.

"Rommie said two was okay, that you were in a lot of pain." Trance eased him back to the pillow. "Just hang in there for a minute, okay? Shall I put on a vid? That might help a little until the meds take effect."

"Sure." He didn’t care. It was worse now that he was awake, a pattern of heat up and around his leg. "Whatever you want." There was an aftertaste from the tablets. "Can I have that water again?"

She slid her arm back under his shoulders, steadied his head. He drank thirstily, sank back down on the pillow. How could he have been so fucking stupid, he wondered distantly; he’d done stupid things in his life before, but this was some kind of a record, even for him.

Trance’s hand felt good on his cheek and hair. He closed his eyes and focused on that, too miserable to object to being coddled.

And sometime after that, the meds kicked in and pulled him under.

  


* * *

Dylan returned to his quarters to find Trance sitting beside Harper’s bed watching some ancient Vedran holodrama. Harper was out, totally gone, and there was what appeared to be a damp cloth over his forehead.

Trance blushed and stood up when she saw him. "Um, he had a rough day."

He nodded, frowned. "Is he all right?"

"Just a little reaction to the grafts, I think. And he pushed himself a little in physical therapy." Trance looked at Harper, her expression affectionate. "Rommie said he was too wiped out to reach his tablets, asked me if I’d look in on him and make sure he was all right. She was on the command deck and I was in the garden, so I came down. Up." She blushed. "Whatever."

Dylan smiled faintly. "Over and up? Something like that. I take it he got the meds then."

Trance nodded. "He did. I gave him two, Rommie okay’d it." She looked down at Harper again, reached to adjust the damp cloth. "He was a little feverish, just a reaction to the grafts."

Dylan winced, remembering his own experiences. "Should I just let him sleep?"

"No, he needs to eat." She sighed, chewed at her lip. "Give him another hour or so, or you’ll have to deal with an up-all-night Harper."

Dylan laughed softly. "It’s not that bad. He’s good company."

She grinned at him. "I think so, too. Especially when he’s healthy."

"Especially," Dylan agreed. "I’ll leave him alone for the moment then. Did he tell you about the cramping?"

Trance nodded and pointed. "I brought something down. Just a medpad, but it works pretty quick. I’m hoping, though, that the crutch did the trick in terms of balance and it won’t happen again. He hasn’t had any cramping today."

"Good." Dylan looked at Harper, frowned a little. "He’s really out."

"He worked pretty hard today." Trance petted Harper’s hair lightly. "Okay, well, I’m back to the gardens. If you need anything, just have Rommie call me."

"Thanks, Trance."

She dimpled at him. "Thanks for taking good care of him."

He managed to keep his expression bland until she’d gone; he hadn’t taken good care of Harper at all, dammit, he’d set up the circumstances that had led them here, and it made him sweat to think how badly it could have ended.

Crouching near the bed, he touched the back of his hand lightly to Harper’s cheek, felt the hint of fever there. His fault, all of it, his damnable temper and shortness and it was easy to forget that beneath that cockiness, Harper was just as human and insecure as anyone else. 

Waking Harper would be unkind and unnecessary, so he forced himself to follow his usual routine. A change of clothes, daily logs and he was reading the latest communiqué from the Ophici when a soft cry startled him.

He was up and around the divider in record time, but Harper was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. "Harper?"

"Huh?" Blurrily. "M’okay, just woke up. Stupid dream." Owlish look around and Harper shifted, reached for the crutch.

Dylan hesitated. "Trance said you had a rough day."

Harper blinked, levered himself up. "Yeah, a little, I guess." A wince as he settled himself with the crutch. "Stupid leg aches a little more today. Guess it’s the grafts." Resigned tone.

Okay, Dylan told himself, it was just that they were both a little off balance after last night. He took a step closer, touched Harper’s cheek; Harper sighed and turned his face into Dylan’s palm briefly. "I’m okay, honest. I just feel stupid about the whole damn thing."

"Only one of us is allowed to feel stupid at a time," Dylan said softly, stroking his thumb over Harper’s cheekbone. "And right now, it’s my turn."

Brief, crooked grin. "You’re crazy, I’m the one who did it."

Dylan shrugged, took the chance of leaning in, and Harper leaned in, too; brief kiss, chaste kiss and he hugged Harper lightly. "You had some help in getting there."

Harper leaned against him for a moment. "Can’t blame this on anyone but Harper, Dylan." He sighed, rubbed his face against Dylan’s shirt. "Okay, now I get to show off my crutch action."

Releasing him, Dylan stepped out of the way, grinned. "More mobile already, I see."

"Damn right." Another crooked grin. "I can even stand up to take a piss."

Dylan laughed outright. "Always good for the ego."

Harper snickered and made his way--very adeptly, too, Dylan noticed--to the bathroom. He caught himself watching and shook his head to clear it, smiled all the way back to his desk. Absorbed again, he glanced up and smiled when Harper emerged, went back to responding to the Ophici ambassador. When he’d finished, he looked up and frowned, got up and found Harper examining his leg with careful touches.

"You okay?"

Harper nodded glumly. "Damn thing is swelling up again."

"That’s pretty natural after grafting." Dylan sat down on the narrow bed. "It’ll go down in twelve hours or so. Keeping it elevated will help."

Harper nodded unhappily. "I hate this. I haven’t been... except for this," he touched the port on the side of his neck, "I’ve never been laid up like this. Not this bad."

"I have." Dylan closed his fingers lightly around Harper’s uninjured ankle. "Only a few times, thankfully, but no matter how few it still isn’t easy."

"It sucks." Harper sighed.

"It does," Dylan agreed, laughing a little, but Harper didn’t seem any happier. He studied Harper’s face. "Harper, talk to me, okay? What’s going on inside your head?"

Harper’s mouth trembled briefly. "It’s just so fucking stupid. I don’t know where my head was. And don’t tell me it was your fault, Dylan, you’re not the one who did it."

That was true enough, Dylan thought, not that it made him less culpable. He’d examined his behavior from a dozen different angles, had his own words to Harper come back to make him wince, and not just those he’d used on K’ri. "One of my weaknesses as a commanding officer," he said softly, regretfully, "is that I expect a great deal and don’t always follow through with recognition. Not... not praise, but recognition. And I’m still learning with this crew. Maybe the reason your head was ready to accept--maybe I’d done my part in preparing you to believe that it was possible."

That got him a long look. "Beka didn’t." A whisper.

"No, she didn’t. But she kids you a lot, and sometimes she’s pretty rough about it. Ordinarily, maybe that would just be kidding. On top of my responses--Rev is good about pointing out when I’m unfair, usually, but unfortunately he expects me to be aware of my own shortfalls in that area." Ruefully.

Harper didn’t quite look at him. "So you expect us to be good at what we do, that’s not unfair."

"No, but maybe expecting to you to react as if you’re High Guard, is." He said it bluntly. "And I treat all of you that way too often."

"Sometimes," Harper agreed grudgingly. "But we get it most of the time, Dylan."

He rubbed his thumb over Harper’s instep. "Right. I’m just saying maybe you were readier to believe that Beka would dump you because I’d laid the groundwork to make you question--yourself. Your worth to us." 

Harper was silent for a long time, staring at his hands. Finally sighed. "Maybe. But it’s still stupid."

"It’s human." Dylan tilted his head until Harper’s gaze met his own. "That’s all. I hope like hell you’re listening to me, because it’s damned hard to admit having been an ass."

Brief shaky grin. "I hear that." A long indrawn breath. "I am listening, honest. I just feel...." A vague gesture. "I feel so fucking stupid and shaky." Harper’s eyes were too bright.

"The time I got hit in the hip, I used go back to my room after physical therapy and cry like a three-year-old." Dylan’s mouth twitched. "Truth, I swear it. And I was thirty-one."

Harper did laugh then, albeit still shakily. "Liar."

Dylan put his hand over his heart. "I swear to you on my High Guard oath."

Harper ducked his head abruptly, swiped his sleeve over his eyes. "So it’s going to pass, huh?"

"Absolutely." 

Another ragged breath. "I didn’t even think you liked me all that much, Dylan. Why--" A helpless shrug.

Oh, that stung, and stung badly. "I admit, seeing you in different surroundings made a difference." He grimaced. "No hierarchy, no authority thing going on. But I never disliked you. Except when I thought you were trying to steal my ship." His mouth twitched.

Harper laughed again. "Fair enough, then." An almost shy smile. "That’s kind of nice to know. I wanted to help so bad when--" He closed his mouth abruptly, went scarlet.

It took Dylan a moment to translate that. "I know you did." Gently. "And what you did do was already... in the loop. If it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be here on Andromeda and I’d still be frozen in a black hole."

"I felt like I let you down." Harper blurted it, looked away.

Dylan’s throat ached abruptly. "You didn’t." Roughly. "Just because--look, Harper, it was painful. It _is_ painful. It’s painful not to know what happened to Sara after that, to Khalid and my other friends. But that was three hundred years ago, and I have to trust that Khalid kept his word to me. That he _could_."

Harper nodded, wrapped his arms around himself. Risking it, Dylan edged closer, drew Harper into a hug, and just held on. "You’ve got the blues," he said softly. "I’ve been there, Harper, I know them well."

Abruptly, Harper’s arms went around him and Harper’s face was pressed against his neck. "I hate feeling weak." A whisper. 

"I know _that_ feeling, too." He rubbed the back of Harper’s neck, breathed in the scent of Harper’s skin. "But if there’s anything I’ve learned since we’ve met, it’s that you sure as hell aren’t." He laughed a little, nuzzled Harper’s neck, careful of the port. Harper shivered a little. "Is that sensitive?"

"A little." But Harper’s tone was comfortable. "Right around the edge of the hardware." Harper didn’t seem disposed to either let go or move, so Dylan kept right on rubbing the back of Harper’s neck. At least until Harper’s stomach growled.

Dylan chuckled, drew back a little. "Hungry?"

Harper blushed. "Starving. I missed lunch."

Dylan nodded, and gave in to irresistible impulse. Harper’s lips were warm and dry from the trace of fever, but they parted under his tongue. Long, sweet kiss, and god, how long had it been since he’d felt that rush? Since Sara, he thought, and maybe there was something weirdly right about the fact that it was Harper, who had tried to give him what he’d most wished for. Something he’d never had the decency to thank Harper for, either, now that he thought about it. He tried to put his thanks into the kiss, drew back, and kissed the corner of Harper’s mouth, the tip of his nose. "Food."

"Okay." Harper released him reluctantly. "I hate pain meds."

"Nasty taste in your mouth?" Dylan arched an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, and fuzzy head." Harper’s gaze went distant. "At least I don’t have to have a complete neural block."

Rising, Dylan frowned. "Have you ever had to have one?"

"From here down." Harper touched the base of his skull. "With this thing."

Complete paralysis and total life support. "God. Why in the hell did you put yourself through that?" Especially with the medical barbarism he suspected.

"Not my idea," Harper said, suddenly cheerful. "But it’s pretty damn useful, so I’m not complaining."

Not his idea. What that said about Earth only turned Dylan’s stomach. "Dinner," he said firmly. He was most assuredly not going to think about Harper’s existence on Earth right now. Feeling guilty over Harper’s current condition was quite enough.

After dinner, Harper went glum again, or so it seemed, but the dampness of sweat at his hairline suggested both pain and fever. Dylan chivvied another tablet into him, brought another damp cloth, and let him be. Mostly. He also chivvied Harper into bed in _his_ bed, and stretched out beside him.

"Hate this," Harper muttered after a while and turned his face into the pillow.

Reaching out, Dylan rested his hand on Harper’s hair. "I know." Softly. "Come here."

Harper shifted closer and Dylan slid his arm under the pillow. Warm and solid and decidedly miserable, Harper kept his face in the pillow. Abandoning his book, Dylan slid down, put his other arm around Harper. "Harper." 

"What." Muffled. 

He ruffled Harper’s hair. "Talk to me, Harper. Is it hurting that badly?"

Harper shifted slightly to look at him. "No." Very faintly.

Depression, then. There was nothing he could do for that, outside of mentioning it to Rommie. He kissed Harper’s mouth lightly. "Just hang on. I swear to you, this will pass when you’re feeling better physically. My word on it." 

Harper laughed shortly. "You ever break your word?"

"Not of my own will, no." He cupped Harper’s face. "I’m not going to try and jolly you out of this, but I’m not going to let you stew in it, either."

"Good, cuz I hate that." But Harper looked marginally happier. "Jollying, I mean."

"And it seldom does any good." He was suddenly desperate to reach Harper, cold to the bone at the thought that Harper might... that Harper might do something more effective if the despair became too great. "How’s your back? We’ve all been worried about your leg, but I swear, when I was laid up last time, my back ended up killing me from so much time lying down."

"My shoulders are a little sore," Harper admitted. 

"Now that I can help with." He kissed Harper again. And again. "God, I’m a bastard." Ruefully.

Startled into laughter, Harper drew back. "What? Why?"

"Because you’re miserable and all I want to do is map the inside of your mouth. And the outside of your body." He let his mouth curve.

Harper snickered. "If I felt a little better, I’d make you."

"If you felt better, you wouldn’t have to." He rubbed Harper’s cheek, felt the stubble against his palm. "All right, why don’t you get rid of that shirt, I’ve got something that’ll help with your shoulders." He sat up, rolled to his feet, and flashed a grin at Harper. "Besides, I got spoiled on K’ri." He went into the bathroom and found what he wanted in the cabinet, returned to find Harper pulling the shirt over his head.

"Got spoiled?" Harper sounded baffled.

"Yeah, I did." Dylan arched an eyebrow. "You wore a lot less on K’ri."

Startled, Harper snickered. "So did you."

"Is that a complaint?"

"Fair’s fair." The cloud seemed to be lifting, at least a little. "You should take your shirt off, too."

"Tit for tat?" Dylan laughed. "Fair enough." He tossed the tube on the bed, peeled out of his shirt, and sat down on Harper’s side. 

Harper stared at him. Grinned suddenly. "So, you sure all you want to rub are my shoulders?"

"Don’t tempt me, I’m trying to suppress my baser instincts for later." Dylan smiled. "Why don’t you roll over, I’ll get your whole back."

Harper nodded, but put a hand out; his fingertips touched Dylan’s mouth very lightly. Shivered and smiled. "Okay."

Dylan took hold of Harper’s wrists, nipped those fingertips, kissed Harper’s palm. "Now," he said huskily.

Another shiver, and Harper slid down on the bed, carefully rolled to his belly. 

God, he had to focus, get his brain out of his cock, but Harper’s skin was warm and smooth and faintly salty under his tongue. He kissed the nape of Harper’s neck, the side of Harper’s throat and only the fact that Harper’s skin was a little too warm kept his sanity intact enough to let him lean back and reach for the tube.

Harper sighed. "Don’t stop." 

"I have to." Softly. He let the cream warm on his fingertips, began stroking it into muscles that were, indeed, pretty damn knotted up. That small sensual indulgence helped and Harper sighed again as Dylan’s fingers worked at the tension. "There’s plenty of time." He was saying it to himself as much as to Harper, smiled a little. "Well, barring black holes or disasters."

"Please do." Harper squirmed a little. "You don’t know how good that feels."

"I can imagine." The muscles further down were tense, too. Dylan added more cream, rubbed it into the spots between Harper’s shoulder blades.

Harper made a small sound. "Oh, man."

Dylan smiled again, leaned over to kiss the side of Harper’s throat. "Better?"

:"Oh, yeah." Harper sighed again, wriggled. "Lots. Good hands."

"Settle down and just enjoy." Dylan smiled, moved down Harper’s back, and lost himself in the motion, in the feel of Harper’s skin under his fingertips. Gradually, gradually, Harper’s muscles went loose, utterly relaxed, and if Harper wasn’t asleep, he was nearly so. Almost reluctantly, he lifted his hands, reached for his robe to drape it over Harper.

"Don’t stop." Drowsily.

Dylan smiled, arranged the robe. "I thought you were asleep."

"Feels too good to sleep through."

Dylan smiled, climbed over Harper, and stretched out beside him, gently tugged until Harper shifted, back up against Dylan’s chest. He spread the robe over both of them, put an arm over Harper to hold him, skin to skin. "Better?"

Harper sighed. "Yeah." 

He rubbed his palm over Harper’s stomach. "How’s the leg?" 

"Not too bad. And no, I don’t want another pill, I hate being that fuzzed." A little irritably.

"Grouch." He rubbed his cheek against Harper’s hair. "Just trying to make sure you’re comfortable."

"I’m comfortable." Harper laughed softly. "Way comfortable." He stretched against Dylan. "I shoulda taken my pants off."

"I’d offer to help with that, but it seems counter productive at the moment," Dylan told him drily.

"Damn, you saw through my ploy."

He laughed softly into Harper’s hair. "How the hell can you find the energy even to think about sex?"

"I’m comfortable now. Sex is easy to think about when you’re comfortable." Harper wriggled against him again.

Unfortunately, the part of Harper that was wriggling was right against Dylan’s cock. And he was still half-aroused. "Harper, god." His hand slid down to Harper’s waistband, fumbled Harper’s pants open. He _was_ a bastard, his rational mind told him, but his hand slid inside, his mouth found Harper’s throat.

Harper wriggled again, made a satisfied sound.

Worst of all, Harper’s cock started to wake up and say hello to Dylan’s palm. He groaned and sucked at Harper’s throat. This was _not_ a good idea. It wasn’t. It was reprehensible of him, only maybe it wasn’t, Harper pushed against his hand, made another satisfied sound, a wonderful sound, an entirely alluring sound. He groaned into Harper’s throat, shifted back, and tugged Harper to his back. "Harper, I don’t want to hurt you."

Harper licked his lips. "You won’t." Hoarsely. "But I want to touch you." Slightly plaintive, and it melted the last of Dylan’s resolve.

He took in a breath. "We’re both wearing too much."

Harper’s eyes sparked. "I can take care of mine."

"Carefully," Dylan said hoarsely. He reached for his own waistband, paused as Harper successfully squirmed out of his remaining clothes, and then rid himself of his own ruthlessly.

Careful of his weight, he stretched out, pulled Harper closer and then he was devouring Harper’s mouth with hunger that must have been building for god knew how long. Too long, too much hunger and he forced himself to gentle down, gasped as Harper’s fingers closed around him. How long had it been since he’d been touched? How long since he’d touched anyone else? Too long, much too long, and Harper’s mouth was so goddamned sweet, Harper’s body... he broke away from Harper’s mouth, moved to taste the skin at the hollow of Harper’s throat. 

Harper squirmed against him. "Dylan!" Breathlessly.

Dylan raised his head instantly. "What?" Worried.

Harper rubbed Dylan’s hip. "I want to touch you, too." Plaintively.

His brain was going to melt down. "Sorry." He shifted back up, tried to think past the feel of Harper’s hands on him. "Better?" Logistics, dammit, with Harper’s leg--oh, the hell with it. "Harper, you’re just going to have to learn some patience," he growled and shifted again, licked Harper’s navel and got a very satisfactory gasp.

"Oh, like you should talk--oh, fuck, Dylan--"

The taste of sex, of cock, and Harper moaned, put fingers into his hair. It was better than his imagination, better than that brief fantasy he’d allowed himself on K’ri. 

Harper’s fingers tightened in his hair. "Oh, god, Dylan, oh, there, fuck, fuck, that’s so good...."

It was good, it was better than good, it was fucking sensational, and he was so hard he ached, and Harper moved, pushed up into his mouth and throat. He gripped the base of Harper’s cock, swallowed it down and Harper stopped talking long enough to cry out wordlessly and arch up into his mouth. Salty, slippery and he nearly went over the edge himself, had to reach down to press hard. Despite his own need, he gentled down when Harper whimpered and tugged at his hair, but didn’t let himself be moved until he let Harper slip from his mouth. Sliding one arm under Harper, he nuzzled and licked his way back up, tasting every bit of Harper he could, found Harper’s mouth and kissed him deeply.

Harper whimpered into his mouth, reached down for him, and sighed. Dylan sighed back, pushed into Harper’s fist and it wasn’t going to take him any time at all; Harper nipped at his mouth, bit his jaw and stroked ruthlessly upward and the taste and scent and feel of Harper tipped Dylan over, he thrust hard and came, spilling over Harper’s fingers and hip, took Harper’s mouth almost roughly and groaned as pleasure wrenched his nerves....

And then he was sane again and worried about Harper, and Harper was laughing against his skin and protesting. "I’m fine, god, I’m better than fine, jeez, Dylan."

He laughed, too, as much at himself as anyone. "Good." Felt a foolish grin blossom and kissed Harper to hide it. Well, not just to hide it, but because he wanted to, because he could and, damn, he’d forgotten how nice it was, this intimacy, the sense of connection and messy, comfortable affection.

He still couldn’t figure out how it had happened without him noticing until he’d seen that light in Harper’s face, until he’d seen it go out when Harper had seen him. He supposed it didn’t really matter, not at this point. He nuzzled Harper’s throat, kissed the corner of Harper’s equally foolish smile. "That what you had in mind?"

Harper nuzzled back. "Better, even."

Dylan licked his way into another, more languid kiss. "Shower?"

"If you hold me up." Harper rubbed the side of his foot against Dylan’s leg. "I think my bones melted."

"Sounds like a medical problem. I could always carry you in there."

"Don’t _even_ think about it." Harper snickered. "I’d have to get even when I’m back on both feet again."

"I’ll keep that in mind." Dylan laughed out loud, mostly for the sheer pleasure of... whatever it was he was feeling. Rolling out of bed, he found Harper’s crutch, brought it around. 

Harper smiled up at him, a smile that lacked cockiness and held a great deal of vulnerability. He kissed that smile, willing the vulnerability not to be fear. They had a lot to work through, they probably always would, given his mission, but he couldn’t bear the thought of quenching Harper’s joy again. Not ever.

A dangerous weakness in a commander, but he thought with time he could manage it.

Harper was humming when he drew back, gave him that goofy grin again. "Nice."

"Very nice," he agreed. "Come on, I’ll keep you from drowning." He winced, hearing the words too late.

"Again." Harper laughed out loud. "You know, there’s an old Earth saying that if you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for them for the rest of it."

"Is that right?" Dylan didn’t tell him there was a Vedran equivalent. "So that means I’m stuck with you?"

"‘Fraid so." Brief flash of that vulnerability.

"Well, you know me, I like permanence." Dylan ruffled Harper’s hair and helped him up.

"You’re totally whacked," Harper said, sounding delighted.

That might be true, Dylan reflected, watching Harper move toward the bathroom. Or maybe he was just regaining some sanity after a year of none.

  


* * *

"Tyr’s being awful damn nice to me." Harper adjusted the resistance on what he called the torture device, snorted when Trance readjusted it downward. "Trance, I’m never going to get anywhere if you keep setting the resistance down."

She shook a finger at him. "Seamus Zelazny Harper, you know you’re trying to push too hard."

He scowled. "I didn’t think it wasn’t going to take this long." 

Trance sighed. "Harper, you’ve got to give yourself time."

"It’s been two weeks." He scowled at the resistance control. "I’m still sleeping all the time and I’m using that damn crutch still. I want my leg back."

Her mouth twitched. "And you’re still sleeping in Dylan’s quarters."

He went scarlet, cursed his fair skin. "That’s because Dylan worries," he said, trying for dignity.

Trance giggled, nudged him.

He put his face in his hands. "God." Muffled. "Has everybody figured it out?"

"I don’t know. You don’t think I’d _say_ anything to anyone else, do you?" Trance giggled again.

He raised his head. "So how did _you_ figure it out."

Trance smirked. "I find things that other people want and take them to them."

His jaw dropped. "You--" The mind boggled. "You _gave_ me to Dylan?"

"No, silly, I gave Dylan to you." She smirked again. "Why do you think I kept insisting that you shouldn’t be alone at night? Of course, you did the rest yourself."

He stared at her. "The really scary thing is that you could be serious." 

Trance laughed. "I am. Now get started."

He did. But his face kept getting hot as he wondered who else had guessed. Sure, it was stupid to think the rest wouldn’t figure it out eventually. Hell, even he’d figured it out, and he was zonked on pain meds the first several days. Well, he’d thought he’d figured it out and taken a risk.

Maybe Tyr had figured it out. Given Tyr’s mentality, that suggested a really good reason that Tyr was being decent to him. Of course, Tyr still barked at him on occasion, but Tyr also talked to him now and then beyond the simple requirements of work. Which he was doing on the sly while Dylan was on the command deck, and he was excruciatingly careful about it. 

It wasn’t that he was trying set back his recovery, it was that he was freaking bored out of his mind. He just didn’t feel like arguing with Dylan about sitting at his worktable because Dylan, still, growled if he worked too hard in PT.

He was thinking about that as he finished the reps, rolled over to work on the back of his leg, hooking it under the padded bar. "I just wish I felt like it was getting better."

"It is." Trance adjusted the resistance again. "Honestly, Harper, there’s more muscle mass, the grafts are doing great, you’ve got to give yourself the time." She gave him a long look. "If Dylan finds out I’m letting you work, you know, he’s going to yell at me."

"Don’t look at me, I’m not telling." He settled, lifted his leg, pressing against the resistance. "There really is more muscle mass?"

"Yup." Trance patted his hand. "Remember what Tyr said, pushing too hard will only cause more damage." She giggled. "As much as I hate to admit it, he’s exactly right."

He sighed, clenched his teeth against the ache. "I know, I know. But I’m bored. I wanna get back to work. For real."

"You will."

"And I’m sick of that crutch." 

"How’s it going?" Dylan’s voice.

Harper turned his head, lifted a hand in greeting. "I’m being tortured, like always."

Dylan grinned. "We’re at Deryni Drift. I wondered if my medical officer thought a field trip might be helpful to her patient’s morale."

"Oh, definitely."

Harper lifted his head. "I’m not going anywhere with that fucking crutch."

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "That’s pretty heated." His tone was mild.

"I think maybe we could switch to a brace of some kind," Trance said hastily. "He’s making terrific progress, Dylan."

"Really?" Harper looked at her suspiciously. "What kind of brace?"

"I was working something out with Rommie the other day. A sort of modified splint, the kind the High Guard uses for battle casualties on their way to medical care." Trance beamed at him. "She’s made some changes, and I think maybe we can switch to it a little earlier."

"Yeah?" He looked back at Dylan. "Strike that. Deryni Drift? Boy, I’ve got some places to go. And we need components, I’ve got this idea--"

Laughing, Dylan held up one hand. "Hold it. Make a list, I’ll consider our budget, and we’ll go from there."

Harper beamed. "Great!" He started to roll over, and Trance put a hand in the middle of his back. "Oh. Well, I’ll make the list as soon as I’m done."

Dylan’s smile was worth that concession. "Good. Say, an hour? That give you enough time to get that brace on him, Trance?"

"I think so." Trance beamed again. 

Deryni Drift. Harper grinned and went back to his reps. Oh, he had things to show Dylan, all his favorite little shops, and if he dickered, he could get most of what he wanted for less than Dylan expected. "How many is that, Trance?"

"Fifteen." She patted his hand. "Keep going."

Still smiling, he did.

  


* * *

Beka did a double take when Harper walked--not quite limped--onto the command deck. Even knowing ahead of time, Dylan felt faint surprise at Harper’s expression. Partly the usual Harper cockiness, but beneath that was real delight; he hadn’t realized how difficult it had been for Harper to feel... crippled. No matter how temporarily

He should have.

Trance and Rommie both deserved kudos for this idea, and he made a mental note to give them. Trance was frankly beaming, and even Rommie’s expression was pleased.

"Trance and Rommie rock," Harper said happily and held his arms out at Beka. "Look, Ma, no hands!"

"Whoa." Beka clapped her hands. "Okay, now tell me how you’re doing that!"

Harper grinned, leaned over to pull his pant leg up a bit. Clear plasteel, molded to fit Harper’s leg. "Goes up to my knee."

Dylan had to bit his lip to keep from returning that grin too obviously. "Ready?"

"Yup." Harper handed him the list happily. "And if you take my advice, we can afford all of it." He grinned. "I asked Rommie what my limits were."

Dylan glanced at Rommie, who looked smug. "I always take good advice," he said mildly. "People, are we ready?"

Rev patted Harper. "Congratulations, Harper. It’s good to see you looking so well. Try not to get into trouble."

"Count on it," Harper said fervently.

Dylan grinned. "We’re docked, we’re ready, let’s go."

The Drift was... commercial, as all drifts tended to be. Oases in the dark of space, providing relief from hungers of various types, as well as needs both mechanical and human. Dylan paid his usual semi-official visit to the official powers of Deryni, sending the rest of his crew off on their various quests.

Trance went with Harper, ostensibly to see about _her_ list as well as Harper’s, Beka went off to attend to more basic supplies, Tyr went off to do whatever Tyr wanted, and Rev, presumably, set off to spread the Way.

That left him alone once the proprieties had been managed, so he walked through the cluster of garishly lit shops and bars and restaurants, not to mention the casinos, idly considering what, if anything, he needed or wanted, and the answer, as it so often had, came up as very damned little.

Perhaps years of High Guard duty had made him too ascetic, although that didn’t seem true, either. He enjoyed a drink, and he’d certainly been enjoying time with Harper, both vertical and horizontal; he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed his creature comforts, the greater luxury of the captain’s quarters, but then he had from the start. Years of field duty had given him a marvelous appreciation for that. 

Stopping in front of a clothing boutique, he considered the offerings, idly wondering what Harper would think if presented with the slate blue shirt draped decoratively over a stick figure. It was a rather nice shirt, actually, and he considered it for a moment before deciding that Harper was likely to take it as subtle criticism of his style. No, that would have to wait until Harper was back to his usual cocky self, or perhaps a little more comfortable and confident than his usual cocky self.

"Dylan!" Trance’s voice made him turn; he smiled faintly as she waved from across the narrow plaza. Harper turned from staring at a shop window, grinned. 

Dylan met them halfway, and Harper pumped his fist in the air. "Trust in the Harper," Harper crowed. "The Harper is good."

"The Harper got all his parts and came in well under the limit Rommie set," Trance explained, beaming.

"Can I dicker or can I dicker," Harper said cheerfully. "The answer is, yes, I can dicker."

"Are you sure everything works?" Dylan arched an eyebrow, but grinned anyway.

"Hah, I thought of that, I tested." Harper patted his toolbelt happily. "I’m heading to the dock to check the loading."

"I’ll go with you," Dylan said mildly.

Harper blinked at him. "Hey, boss, I’m going to let the ‘bots do the work." 

Dylan nodded. "Yes, you are."

Trance giggled. "I’m going to meet Beka. Harper, be good."

"I’m always good," Harper said indignantly.

As she walked away, Dylan murmured, "Especially when you’re not."

Harper blinked, blushed, and snickered. "You’re getting damn good at this banter thing. You’re going to threaten my reputation."

"That will be the day." Dylan turned Harper in the proper direction. "This way."

"I knew that." But Harper was still a little pink. "Did the officialdom thing go okay?"

"It seemed to. I got the feeling that having Andromeda here made them a little nervous, but once I assured them we were here merely to allow for some restocking and recreation, they seemed to relax." Which didn’t reassure Dylan entirely, but he knew his crew, knew that they knew these drifts better than he did. And, of course, they had all come armed. Even Harper.

He glanced sidelong at Harper, smiled involuntarily at Harper’s cheerful expression. There had been a few more bad spells for Harper, but it seemed that doing his job had dispelled some of that. He’d come back to his quarters off-shift more than once and found Harper in the dark or near dark, huddled in misery and exhaustion. He’d promised Harper he wouldn’t try and jolly him out of it, and he didn’t. But touch seemed to awaken Harper, even if it were nothing more than Dylan rubbing his neck or shoulders or hair.

Which, of course, seemed to lead inevitably to other kinds of touching, and Harper seemed as hungry as he was. That made it impossible to resist, no matter how much good sense argued, and he soothed his conscience with the knowledge that maybe it was partly the sex, partly the touch, and the intimacy that seemed to allow Harper respite from depression.

Besides, Harper _was_ good company, conversation ranging from ancient comic vids to quantum physics, and oh, dear god, he had never contacted Mahali. He said as much.

Harper looked at him, surprised. "Oh. That’s okay, I’ve talked to him. He was pretty upset with the clinic when I told him about the spiny eel." A classic Harper shrug. "Not that they could have done anything about it, most people die."

"You’re indestructible," Dylan said lightly. "Don’t take that as tacit permission to throw yourself headfirst into dangerous situations."

"I never do! Honest!" Harper laughed. "I hate ‘em!"

"Good, I approve of that attitude. Profoundly." Dylan grinned sidelong. "Next time I go out shopping for personal items, I’m taking you with me. I’m terrible at dickering."

"Why? You’ve got a really snaky mind." Harper sounded admiring, by which Dylan assumed it was meant as a compliment. "That trick you pulled on Tyr--I was impressed, and even though she’d rather chew glass than admit it, so was Beka." 

"I won’t tell her you told me, then." They reached the docking area, turned toward Andromeda’s umbilical. "It looks like their delivery is prompt." The conveyor that serviced their corner was clanking, carrying several crates. "Did you really get everything you needed?"

"And a couple of spares. You can be damn sure I tested those, too." Harper’s smile was feral. "We don’t get rooked again if I can help it."

"I approve of that attitude, too," Dylan told him, and his own smile felt a little grim. He ought to find Harper’s feral side appalling, but he didn’t. It was all a part of the same man who made him laugh, who lit up inside with enthusiasm whenever something caught his interest. He could live with the feral side, even if he might occasionally have to curb it. A wave of rueful affection made his throat tight; he put his hand briefly on the back of Harper’s neck, squeezed gently.

It got a surprised look, a completely unguarded smile, all ferocity gone.

And that, Dylan supposed, was why he could live with it. Somehow, despite everything he’d endured in his life, Harper remained human, hadn’t turned into an automaton with dead eyes.

At the other end of the conveyor, several of Rommie’s drones were already collecting crates while Beka looked on with satisfaction. Dylan arched an eyebrow. "I didn’t expect you back so quickly."

"I’m getting a very hinky feeling," Beka told him seriously. "I’d like to get us out of here. Tyr’s already back and I’ve talked to Trance, she’s on her way."

Dylan nodded. He took Beka’s hinky feelings very seriously these days; she’d sensed something wrong on the Pax while he was still mooning over crisp salutes and spit and polish. "What’s the source of your ‘hinky’ feeling."

Beka folded her arms. "Just a little too much interest in how many crew members we had, and would any more of them be taking leave while we’re here." 

"Pirates?" Harper opened a crate, examined the contents before the drone took it. "Have you looked in these?"

"Yeah, I have. So far, so good." Somber look.

"How many more?" Dylan looked down the line on the conveyor, mentally calculated. "Rommie, I want more drones out here, I want this operation streamlined."

Beka arched an eyebrow. "You have a hinky feeling, too?"

"Yours plus mine equals we’re getting the hell out of here," he told her drily.

And with that, all hell broke loose.

Harper whirled, drawing his gun, and Beka’s eyes widened. Already turning, Dylan reached for his force lance, pulled it free and something hot and heavy punched him into the chest. He was conscious of total disbelief as he fell backward into darkness.

  


* * *

There were a lot of them, Harper noted distantly, dragging Dylan to cover behind some of the crates. "Rommie, we’re in trouble!" He wasn’t sure how effective _that_ was, but he returned fire until Beka ducked in beside them, left it to her and dove down over Dylan.

Oh, fuck, there was a lot of blood, and some of it was around Dylan’s mouth, it bubbled with each rasping breath, and he ripped open Dylan’s jacket found a huge fucking hole. That was the trouble with relying on technology, he thought distantly, somebody could come along with bullets that weren’t smart and ignored the fucking gadgets, someone could come along and brain you with a club. He pressed hard against the hole, felt the pulsing of blood against his hand, and nearly screamed again. "Don’t you fucking die on me," he raged. "I mean it, Dylan. I’ll fucking find you and drag you back."

Suddenly, Tyr was there, firing, laying down cover fire. He grabbed one of Dylan’s arms, Beka grabbed the other, and they dragged Dylan for the airlock. Harper picked up his gun again, rage like a sliver of ice inside him; he targeted with cold precision, aiming for maximum damage at minimum cost until someone grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him into the airlock.

"What the fuck--Trance is still out there!"

Dylan and Beka weren’t in the airlock, which could be a good sign. He didn’t let himself think about it. Couldn’t let himself think about it or he’d go crazy.

Tyr yanked Harper aside to let the battledrones go through. "Not to worry, boy, we’ll get her back." Grim smile. "Let the drones distract them."

"How many are there?" Harper took the cartridge Tyr offered him, checked the one in his gun, and slipped the new one into his belt. "Ready?"

Tyr arched an eyebrow. "When you are."

"Let’s go." He darted out, that sliver expanding, blew the head off one of the bastards unwary enough to poke it out around the corner. The drones were definitely distracting them, and there were still one helluva lot of them, too damn many of them. Tyr advanced, firing just as coolly, and then someone screamed, oh, god, it was Trance.

He broke through the drones, kneecapped the bastard trying to grab Trance, knocked her down before they both got their heads blown off and dragged her behind a strut.

"Harper, you’re bleeding."

"Not my blood." The ice was in his bloodstream and he could think about it now, could look stark reality in the face, and know that Dylan’s chances were zero to none, no matter what magic Rommie had. Too much blood, too damned much blood. "Bastards got Dylan. Trance, we gotta move fast and low, I want you to break for Tyr, stay low and run like hell."

"What about you?" Her eyes were wide.

"I’ll give you cover." He watched, gripping her upper arm. "Now, Trance!"

She obeyed, for once without discussion, kept her head down and Harper fired again and again, went after her. He didn’t care who he killed. He didn’t much care if he got hit, he headed for Tyr, did a tuck and roll and came up to his feet beside Tyr. Empty cartridge out, full cartridge in, and Tyr dragged him backward, step by step. He snarled, but Tyr, dammit, was bigger, and stronger and Nietzschean to boot.

He didn’t want to go inside, he didn’t want to see Beka’s face, didn’t want to see Dylan’s blood, and Tyr was inexorable, firing one handed and dragging him with the other, and at the airlock, somebody’s hand grabbed his collar again, yanked him inside.

Beka shook at him, raged at him. "Are you out of your fucking mind!"

He jerked away, snarled at her wordlessly and turned to go out, but Tyr was blocking the way and closed the airlock. "Let go of him, Beka."

"The hell!" She tried to grab Harper again, missed and Tyr succeeded, held him hard while Trance took his gun. Beka’s fingers cupped his face when he cursed at her. "Harper, he’s going to make it. Stop it!"

He didn’t want to hear it, but the ice began to thaw and it hurt, it hurt like fucking hell. Tyr let go of him and he wrapped his arms around himself, closed his eyes. 

Beka pulled him close, slapped his cheek lightly. "Listen to me, Harper, he’s stable, and he’s going to be fine, I swear to you."

Long shuddering breath and he would _not_ break down in front of Tyr, damned if he would. "Good." Rustily. "I’m going to get cleaned up."

Beka let go, her expression grim. "Okay. Hit med-deck, I want to make sure you didn’t get hit or hurt with that stunt."

He blinked. "Nothing hurts."

Tyr nudged him. "Nothing would. Do as she says." Roughly, almost kindly.

He nodded blankly and started moving.

He didn’t start crying until he got to med-deck.

  


* * *

Dylan surfaced after some unknowable period of time to find himself in med-deck, one side of his chest numb. Neural block, he thought muzzily and opened his eyes to find Beka leaning over him.

"Welcome back," she said and took the hand that wasn’t, blessedly, numb. 

His throat was dry, his mouth was dry, but he struggled for the words, tried to examine her from where he lay. "...hurt?"

Bless Beka, she understood that one word. "No, nobody else got hit, we’re all okay. I keep telling you, you’re the biggest, most obvious target in that uniform." One corner of her mouth lifted. "Like Harper says, even the best tech won’t keep someone from coming up and hitting you with a club."

He understood that, grimaced. 

She turned for a moment, turned back with a bottle of water, and held it to his lips. He drank thirstily, distantly aware that he could taste his own blood in the back of his throat. The water was cold and sweet and blessedly washed it away. "Thanks." Rustily.

"De nada." Beka put the water back. "I don’t mind telling you, you scared the hell out of us." 

Dylan grimaced. "I should have been paying attention." He shifted, looked across the room, and tried to come up off the pillow; Harper lay sleeping on one of the other beds. "You said--"

"Easy, easy, he’s okay. Stress fractures from going berserker on us, but he’s okay." Beka’s hand was flat on his chest. "Trance fused ‘em, he’s fine."

His heart rate slowed again. "Good." The rest of her words penetrated the fog of drugs. "Berserker?"

Beka nodded, her expression troubled. "Yeah. He--well, my guess is that he figured you were gone." 

Dylan felt chilled suddenly. "What--" Couldn’t find the breath to ask it for a moment.

Beka took his hand again. "Dylan, he did fine, he’s a good fighter. I’m more worried about how he reacted. He had to have convinced himself you were dead. That’s the only thing that makes sense."

"What am I supposed to do about that?" His throat ached and his eyes burned. "I need to talk to him."

"Later." She said it firmly, squeezed his hand. "He’s tranked, he was pretty shaky after he saw you. I think, honestly, because you’re alive and he’d gone somewhere dark in his head."

Dylan closed his eyes briefly, fought the muzziness. "When he wakes up, you make sure he’s thinking clearly or I don’t want him leaving med-deck." 

"That’s a given." She patted his hand. "Look, Dylan, on a small crew, people mind their own business. At least if they’re smart, they do. But that doesn’t mean they don’t see things right before their eyes." Her expression softened. "I was a little worried that... you know, that maybe it was just recreational for you. Especially after today."

If he wasn’t so damned tired and upset, he’d take offense at that. "Beka--"

She shook her head. "No, don’t tell me." Sudden grin, at contrast with the weariness in her eyes. "But I’m not worried now."

Dylan sighed, closed his eyes. "Just make sure he’s okay." Faintly. Whether he wanted it or not, he was going back to sleep. "Beka, just make sure." 

"No worry." She patted his hand, and he slid back under.

When he woke the next time, Trance was humming to herself nearby. She gave him a brilliant smile. "Welcome back."

He swallowed, tried to reach for the water, but Trance beat him to it, held it for him. Fresh bottle, and it was cold and sweet and wonderful. He drank his fill, caught Trance’s wrist. "Harper?"

"He’s in his quarters." Trance’s smile dimmed a little. "Sleeping, I think."

"How’s his state of mind?" Hoarsely.

"I think he’s mostly relieved, Dylan, but he was pretty shaken."

"When he wakes up, Trance, I want to see him." The numbness was still there; he put his working hand to his chest. "How bad?"

"It was pretty bad, but you’re doing fine. You just have a lot of healing to do. Lots of grafting, and Rommie had to fuse your ribs, it punched a hole right through your chest." Trance was grave. "Just a centimeter or so to the right and it would hit the aorta."

He didn’t care about that. "How long will I be down. And how long do I have to have this block?"

"You need the block for at least another twenty-four hours, Dylan." Faintly reproving. "But if you’re good and follow your medical officer’s orders, you can go back to your own quarters in about three days."

That was better than he’d expected. "Good." He let go of her wrist. 

"Do you want some more water? Or maybe some broth?" Trance’s expression was earnest. "Some gelatin?"

He couldn’t quite laugh. "The water would be great, Trance."

She held it for him again and he finished off the bottle. God, that small effort exhausted him, he let his head fall back on the pillow. "What’s the situation with the drift?" Hoarsely.

"Beka and Tyr are dealing with the Drift cops, and the Driftmaster, and things are going quite well." Trance didn’t quite smirk. Trance wasn’t a smirker, but she did seem oddly satisfied. "I think you’ll be pleased."

"Trance," he rasped. "Things are going well _how_?"

She patted his hand. "You’re not to think about that, you’re to rest." Almost, but not quite smirked at him again and turned away. "I’m going to get some more water for you, I’ll be right back."

"Trance!" But she ignored him. If only he’d been clearer headed when Beka had been beside him, but his first concern had been for... with relief, he realized it had been for all of them, that his worry about Harper had only slightly edged out his worry for the other. Good, that was good, and it meant he was keeping some kind of balance. But now he was worried for other reasons, and blessedly the object of that worry appeared in the doorway, leaning on his crutch again.

"Hi." Quietly. 

"Hi," he said hoarsely, held out a hand. "I hear you had some stress fractures, but Beka said they fused just fine."

Harper blinked hard, looked away. "Yeah, Trance just wants me to keep as much weight off it as I can." He shifted, hobbled toward the bed, and rested against it. "How are you doin’?"

"I think Trance is drugging my water." He let one corner of his mouth curve, even though his pulse had sped up. Harper’s expression was unpromising. He held his hand out, palm up; after a moment, Harper took it, looked down. "Harper, are you all right?"

Harper nodded, not quite looking at him. "Yeah, I’m good. I’m good." Hoarsely.

Harper’s fingers were cold. "So am I," Dylan said softly. "Or as near as."

Harper squeezed his hand suddenly. "Yeah." Miserably. "I thought--I didn’t think...." His voice trailed off to nothing.

"You thought I was dead." Very softly.

"Dying." Harper tried to jerk his hand away, but Dylan held on. "You don’t get it." A little desperately.

"What don’t I get?"

"I _knew_ you were dying."

"Yes, I do get it." He didn’t have to hold on very hard, thankfully. "Harper, I’m very hard to kill. Believe me, better people than that rabble have tried, remember?"

Brief look upward. "Yeah." Very faintly, and then suddenly, Harper leaned over him, very gentle embrace. "I--I’m sorry."

"For what?" He felt weak with relief, was glad to be lying down. "You didn’t do anything."

Harper drew back, and his eyes were still shadowed. "I’m still sorry." 

He touched Harper’s face. "So am I." 

That got the ghost of a smile. "Yeah, I forgot, you’re responsible for everything."

"Don’t start." He was feeling muzzy again. "Remember how you hated being so tired?"

The phantom smile was more visible again. "Oh, yeah. Just let yourself fade, I’m good." Harper squeezed his hand again. "Better."

He had to be content with that.

  


* * *

Beka found Harper in Hangar Bay five, where he was still puttering with his X-1 or whatever the hell it was. He looked at her, resigned, glad that he was sitting when she came in.

"I’m glad to see you’re staying off that leg," she said, her tone neutral. "How’s it feel?"

Harper shrugged. "Fine."

Beka nodded. "Trance tells me you were in to see Dylan." Still neutral.

He picked up a board and began inserting chips into it. "Yeah."

Her eyebrows drew together. "And?"

He blinked at her. "And what?"

Exasperated look. "I told you he was going to be fine. So, now you know for yourself. Are you feeling better?"

He shrugged. "Sure. I was worried about him."

"Harper, that’s the understatement of the century." Really exasperated. "What, do you think I’m blind or stupid?"

He bared his teeth at her. "No, I don’t think you’re either. Leave it the fuck alone, Beka."

Visibly taken aback, Beka stared at him. "Harper," she said softly. "It’s okay to be scared for someone you care about."

"I was scared for Trance, too," he told her fiercely. "Now will you leave it alone? Please?"

She studied him for a moment, and for a heartbeat, he saw a trace of hurt there. "Sure. Whatever you want." Turned on her heel and walked out, leaving him alone.

His hands shook so badly that he had to put the board down. He didn’t know what to do. He did know what to do. 

He couldn’t lose anybody else. He hadn’t really thought things through, but he couldn’t lose anyone else. That didn’t leave many choices but to end things with Dylan now, before he got any more... entangled. The trouble was, he thought it might already be too late. So he didn’t know what to do.

Putting the heels of his hands over his eyes, he pressed hard to prevent the tears. Thought about the million and one ways Dylan could die, given his propensity for rushing in where angels feared to tread. Thought about how bad that would be.

It was going to be so hard. But he couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

  


* * *

Dylan slept a great deal for the next few days, which was hardly surprising to him. He’d been wounded before; he knew how his body reacted to the healing process. He knew that depression was a natural aftermath; after all, hadn’t that knowledge allowed him to help Harper through the worst of it?

He’d thought so. He’d thought a lot of things. And by the time they left Deryni--Beka and Tyr having extracted heavy fines from the drift management in the form of supplies and cash and legal sanctions against the pirates Harper and Tyr had left alive--he wasn’t sure of any of them.

Harper visited a few times while he was on med-deck. Briefly. Cheerfully. Distantly. At first, Dylan tried to reason his way through it; by the time Trance released him from med-deck, their second day out of Deryni, he was thoroughly depressed.

Some of it would pass. He knew it would. He was a grown man, not an addled adolescent. He was the captain, he was an adult, he was rational.

But it hurt badly that Harper had moved back to his own quarters, and it hurt more that in the three days after his release from med-deck, he didn’t see Harper. At all.

So, whatever there had been hadn’t been what he’d thought it was. He could deal with that. He just needed time.

And fortunately, he had that. Trance had given him a strict set of instructions, and he was by god going to follow them. He had to be strong when he returned to duty.

In more ways than one.

  


* * *

Harper was sitting in Dylan’s customary brooding spot when Rev Bem sat down next to him. 

He glanced sidelong, but didn’t greet Rev. Right now, he didn’t trust his voice. Not after the scene that had just taken place with Beka.

"Beka tells me that the two of you have quarreled." Rev’s voice was soft. No judgement there, but that was Rev.

He nodded. Stared at his hands.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Not pushing, just an invitation.

He didn’t. But something welled up inside. "She’s right. I’m a bastard." Miserably.

Rev considered that. "I don’t think that’s true. I believe that was Beka’s temper talking."

Harper blinked hard. "Yeah, but she’s right. And I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do." The words flooded out. "He nearly died. I can’t stand that. I don’t know what to do."

"What to do about what, Harper?" Rev’s voice was still soft. Kind.

"About Dylan." He couldn’t see, and it was so humiliating to sit here like a kid, bawling. "I don’t know what to do. It hurts, and it’s hurting Dylan and I can’t help it, I can’t stand to lose anyone else, but it’s too late."

"Too late for what?" 

"Too late not to care if I lose him. And it hurts so much, Rev." He put his hands over his face, shaking. 

Rev leaned closer to him. "Then your way is clear, Harper. All things die in their time. And love is truly the only light there is. Would it hurt less to lose him now, now that you’ve chosen to end things between you?"

"No." He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "No, it wouldn’t." That much he knew. But now, days later, he knew that he’d hurt Dylan. Even if he hadn’t, Beka’s tirade would have told him that he’d hurt Dylan. 

She’d said, at the end of the fight, "And to think I was worried about _you_ , that he’d hurt _you_."

He hadn’t been able to find anything to say in reply. "I don’t know how to explain this to him." Faintly.

"Just tell him. Simple words, simple truth. Tell him as you’ve told me."

"I have to think about it." Harper swiped at his eyes again. Took in a shaky breath. "I have to say it right."

"Don’t wait too long, Harper." Gently. "Or he may not be willing to hear you."

Harper nodded. But he wondered if it hadn’t already been too long.

Waiting longer wouldn’t help. But it took him another twenty-four hours before he could work it all out in his head.

  


* * *

Dylan was at his desk reading Beka’s logs on the events at Deryni when she entered without so much as a by your leave.

He scowled at her.

She arched both eyebrows. "I don’t think you’re supposed to be working." 

"I’m just reading your logs," he growled and closed the file down. "Interesting reading."

"Interesting events," she said. "And I’m fairly certain you can access them from over there."

"I’m fine, I’m sitting down, not lifting weights, so leave it." His voice was harsher than he’d intended, but the hell with it.

She frowned at him, modulated her own tone. "Okay. Have it your way. I just stopped in to see how you were feeling."

"I’m feeling like my brain is rotting," he snarled, "And I’m tired of people fussing over me. I’m fine, I’m healing, and I’m sick of recuperating. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"That pretty much tells me, yeah." Very neutral tone. 

Not a good sign, but he didn’t have it in him to feel regret yet. And anyway, she turned and walked back out again before he could force himself to apologize. 

The hell with it. He wasn’t doing very well at working through the situation at Harper, but he had hopes that once he felt physically better things would be fine.

And g’elki would fly.

Morose again, he went back to bed. Took a tablet for the ache of healing ribs and lungs, and dozed through a holodrama he had no interest in watching. Dreamt of K’ri, of sun and sand and watching Harper polish his board.

When his door opened, he was still drifting, assumed it was just the dream veering sideways, but the shift of the mattress as someone sat down brought him to full consciousness.

Harper sat there.

He blinked, still half-certain he was dreaming. "You look terrible," he blurted, and it was true. Harper looked unhappy and tired, dark crescents under his eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping.

Harper didn’t respond to that. "This is the deal," Harper said, his voice rusty. "You have to promise me that you won’t get yourself killed."

Maybe he _was_ dreaming. He’d already half-guessed what had led to Harper’s retreat, maybe his dreaming mind had created Harper’s presence out of that knowledge. "What?" Stupidly.

"You have to promise me. You have to give me your word. I know you won’t break it." A little desperately and Harper’s fingers were cold on his wrist.

He leaned up on one elbow. "Harper, I can’t promise--"

"You have to!" More desperate. "Or I can’t. And it hurts. But it will hurt worse if you get yourself killed."

Dylan stared at him. He couldn’t promise anything of the sort, his rational mind protested, he couldn’t give his word that he wouldn’t get himself killed, no one could make that kind of promise, _Harper_ couldn’t make that kind of promise. But God, Harper needed something from him, needed _this_ from him, and if he _did_ get himself killed, Harper would be angry and grieving and he’d be dead, no way to make amends. What was the answer here? "Harper--"

"Please!" Shakily, and Harper’s fingers tightened on his wrist.

He pushed himself the rest of the way up, leaned against the head of his bed. "I give you my word." Now he was certifiably insane, he had to be.

But then he had a lapful and armsful of Harper, holding him a little more tightly than was, strictly speaking, comfortable.

"I’m not crazy," Harper whispered. "I know you can’t really, but if you give me your word--I know you, you’ll do your damnedest to keep it."

He really shouldn’t have taken that tablet, Dylan thought. "Harper," he breathed.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry." Harper’s expression was tragic. "But I had to make you promise."

"Harper," he said again, and touched Harper’s face. "It’s okay." He hoped. Harper’s face was wet, he hated that, hated Harper being afraid. "I give you my word, Harper, I promise."

Harper’s arms tightened. "Okay." Muffled voice, and Harper shifted, put his face in Dylan’s neck. "I’m sorry."

He definitely wasn’t dreaming. For one thing-- "Harper, you need to loosen up a little."

Brief shudder and then Harper leaned away, eyes wide and alarmed. "Oh, shit, I’m sorry."

"Not that much," Dylan said and pulled him closer again. "Just not so tight."

Harper was shaking. "Okay." 

He rubbed Harper’s back. "It’s all right." And in spite of the fact that he was being anything but logical, he thought maybe it was.

"My head just got really messed up." Another shaky breath. "And I killed--"

He put his fingers over Harper’s mouth. "Harper, I’m a soldier. Sometimes, you haven’t got a choice. And you saved Trance from being hurt or killed by those bastards."

Harper was still shaking. "You were bleeding so much. I couldn’t put enough pressure on it to make it stop."

Oh, god, Beka hadn’t told him. "It’s probably why Rommie was able to get me stabilized so quickly," he told Harper. "And what did you tell me about saving someone’s life?"

Harper’s eyes went wide and the shaking eased. "Oh." Brief flash of delight. "Oh, I guess I’m stuck with you." The delight faded. "I don’t get why you aren’t pissed at me."

Dylan cupped one side of Harper’s face. "I was trying to understand, trying to give you the space. But I’m not going to lie to you, Harper. It hurt." Baldly. Harper’s honesty and courage demanded his own.

Solemn expression and Harper rested his forehead against Dylan’s. "I get that." Faintly. "I’m sorry, Dylan. I’m really sorry--"

"Harper, hush." It wasn’t altruism, he wasn’t trying to make Harper feel better, he was just too damned glad Harper was here. There wasn’t any point in looking backward; he was grateful for the now. Rev must be having an effect on him after all. "It’s okay. It’s done."

Another shaky breath. "Can I stay?" 

"You have to. I’ll tell Rommie to lock the door so you can’t get out." 

Harper straightened, and there was that delight again, not so brief. "Yeah? I told you that you have a snaky mind."

"I’m afraid you may be right." Dylan smiled, so damn glad to see that delight, to see Harper, to _feel_ Harper. "Lose the boots and clothes, you look like hell."

The ghost of a grin. "I haven’t been sleeping too well." 

Dylan touched Harper’s cheekbone, smoothed his fingertips over it. "I, on the other hand, have slept the sleep of the drugged." He sighed. "I missed you."

A sudden, almost frantic hug. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry."

Oh, god. "Don’t, Harper. You just had to work something through, that’s all." He closed his eyes. "You don’t think I had my own issues? You just happened to be in on that at the end."

Harper frowned. "What?"

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of Harper’s jaw. "When I went after you."

Blink. "You mean--"

"I mean that was part of my own head being, as you put it, messed up." Dylan smiled ruefully. 

Harper’s frown eased; suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed Dylan’s mouth. Too gently.

"My mouth wasn’t injured," Dylan muttered and kissed Harper back, rather thoroughly.

When released, Harper leaned back, winced as he shifted. "Gotta get the brace off, it’s digging into the back of my knee."

Dylan winced in sympathy. "Off. Now."

Quick grin and Harper got off his lap, got to his feet. The boots and pants came off first and then Harper leaned over, giving Dylan a rather tantalizing view. The brace came off easily, but left a red mark precisely in the middle of the back of Harper’s knee.

"Your leg is looking good," Dylan said, leaning forward a little. "Come here."

"In a minute." Harper grinned at him and peeled out of both shirts. 

Dylan lifted the bedclothes invitingly. "Now."

"Pretty demanding for a guy who was asleep when I got here." Harper got in bed anyway, let himself be enfolded, and then returned the favor. "Don’t get any ideas. As hard as it is to believe, I think I’m too tired."

Dylan rubbed his face in Harper’s neck. "I _know_ I am. Not to mention drugged." Harper’s warmth against him felt too damned good. Well, he’d known he was lost before, this only confirmed it. 

"I missed you, too." A whisper.

Dylan smiled against Harper’s skin, kissed it. "Good." 

"Take off your shirt." 

Dylan shifted reluctantly. "I’m not sure I recommend that."

Harper sat up. "It’s gotta look better than it did when you were hit, Dylan." Solemnly.

There was that. Pushing himself back up, Dylan managed to work the shirt off. Harper’s eyes rested on the healing skin, a patch the size of Dylan’s fist. "Does it hurt?" Very faintly.

"Not on the outside. Still aches on the inside." Dylan slumped back against the pillows, touched his chest. "It’s a little numb yet."

Harper reached out, grazed the scar with his fingertips. "You gave me your word." Still faintly.

"I did." He said it evenly. "And I intend to keep it."

Harper nodded and then folded himself against Dylan again. "Good." 

Smiling Dylan ruffled Harper’s hair, rested a hand on Harper’s hip. "You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you--is it going to annoy you if I call you Seamus?"

Harper nuzzled. "As long as you don’t call me your snugglebunny, I don’t care what you call me."

Dylan’s eyes opened. "Snugglebunny?" Slightly strangled voice.

"Don’t ask."

"I don’t dare." He couldn’t help laughing. "I think you’re safe, it doesn’t even appeal."

"Good." Harper squirmed up, kissed him again. 

Not quite as gently as before, but without lascivious intent. Which was something of a shame, but probably for the best. Neither of them was exactly at their best. He took in a breath as Harper drew back, nipped gently at Harper’s mouth. Smiled senselessly.

Harper smiled back, just as goofily. "Hi."

"Hi." He was rewarded with another hug, and a Harper wrapped around him. "God, you feel good."

"Mmmmhmmmm." Another kiss. "Now go to sleep. You’re still healing."

He narrowed his eyes, hearing suspicious echoes of his own comments to Harper. "I would never call you snugglebunny," he said mildly. "However, sweetcheeks--"

Harper bit him.

It took a long time to stop laughing, and only a little longer to go back to sleep, but for the first time in longer than Dylan could remember--he felt content.

  


* * *

K’ri again, only this time Dylan hadn’t come in anger. Nor had he come alone. He’d authorized shore leave for everyone, given that a) the Ophici (not to mention two other planetary governments) had signed the charter, b) there were no current emergencies and Rommie was there to alert them if any came up and c) he wanted to.

"There he is," Beka said and handed Dylan the binox. 

He focused in, smiled a little. No pipe this time, Harper was coming in sleek and straight, riding with confidence and a light visible even though the binox. He grinned, handed them to Mahali. "He’s doing well, right?"

Mahali peered, grinned back at him. "Real well."

"I think he actually has a chance," Beka said, her tone a little amazed. "I knew he was good--"

"He had a chance last time." Mahali and Dylan exchanged a look. "He’s got a chance now."

Dylan took the binox back, found Harper again. Smiled. He and Mahali had engaged in a long, drunken conversation two nights ago, after Harper had hit his tolerance and fallen asleep with his head on Dylan’s lap. He’d been honest with Mahali, told him as much as he could without violating Harper’s confidences. Hints and clues and Mahali had gotten it, he’d gotten it very well. So Mahali knew and knew that Harper was fine now, and knew Dylan’s part in it as well. He supposed that much confession was good for him, and he certainly felt better for it. "Look at him." Marveling afresh. Grace and confidence and it was absurd to feel pride, but he did.

"I would if you’d quit hogging the binox," Beka said tartly and snatched them from him. "Go, Harper!"

Trance bounced over wearing too many floral wreaths, and Dylan’s nose twitched. "He’s doing it, he’s doing it!" 

He rubbed his nose, warding off a sneeze, and grinned at her. "Don’t jinx him."

Mahali threw his head back and laughed. "He won’t get first, that damn no-good Tamaru’s already in."

"Oh, like that matters. He’s in the finals out of 8000 competitors and he’s doing it!" Beka highfived Trance.

Dylan laughed, too, sheer high spirits, snatched the binox back and watched Harper ride the wave in. "Mahali--"

"I see him." Mahali beamed. "See, there’s the board, watch it. Third or fourth, I bet you a beer."

Dylan scanned the others. "Uh uh, second."

Beka laughed with delight. "Who’s overconfident?"

"Not me." Dylan gave the binox to her, grinned. "I never underestimate Harper."

She grinned back, looked at the board. The digital display flickered and first place was filled, as Mahali had predicted, by "that damn no-good Tamaru." 

Another delay and Beka danced from foot to foot. "Damn, what’s taking so long."

Dylan was looking over the crowd impatiently, and finally Harper emerged through the crowd, still in his wetsuit, incandescent with delight. "Hey, I did good!"

The hell with it, Dylan put an arm around him, hugged him hard. "Damn good."

"Maybe fifth." Harper was aglow.

Beka grabbed him, danced over the sand with him. "Better than that, I’ll bet."

Trance hugged Harper. "That was so exciting!"

Mahali whooped suddenly. "Second, bro, you got _second_!"

Dylan smirked at Beka’s astonishment, moved to grab Harper; in a heartbeat, he and Mahali had Harper up on their shoulders. Mahali’s clan went wild, and Harper was laughing almost too hard to keep from falling.

The celebration was predictably... wild. Dylan didn’t mind. He sat with Mahali and Beka and watched Harper move around the fires carrying his own light from within. Finally, Harper settled next to him happily. "I think I’m a little drunk."

"I think you’re a lot entitled," Dylan told him, laughing, and ruffled the spiky hair, still stiff with salt. "Having a good time?"

Harper leaned against him. "I can’t believe it, ya know. I really can’t. I mean, you’re here and I won, and jeez, who knew Seamus Zelazny Harper could have a day like this?" 

Dylan put an arm around him. Beka and Mahali were engrossed in each other, which struck him as oddly funny and oddly apt at the same time. "A year like this?"

Sweet smile and Harper leaned up, kissed him. For a heartbeat, Dylan froze, then told himself not to be so fucking stupid and pulled Harper closer and did a very thorough job of mapping the inside of Harper’s mouth.

Harper’s expression was dazed when Dylan drew back. "So. You want to blow this popstand?"

"What?" He was laughing again. Harper gave him that, that renewed ability to laugh at himself, at the world, at the universe. 

"Our room. Me. You. A lock." Harper’s fingers gripped the front of Dylan’s shirt. "Sound good?"

"It sounds great." Dylan kissed him again, hard, rose, and tugged Harper up with him. Glanced at Beka and found that she’d vanished with Mahali.

Harper laughed. "I wondered. She’s had an eye on Mahali for years."

"And she’s just now getting to it?" Dylan grinned at Harper’s expression.

They walked back to their room along the beach. Dylan inhaled the scent of the sea, squeezed Harper’s hand lightly. "Nice."

"Uh huh." Dreamy expression, just visible in the moonlight. "Things are good, huh?"

"I think so. You?"

Harper bumped companionably against him. "You sure I’m not dreaming? Or dead?"

"God!" He let go of Harper’s hand, swatted Harper’s ass. "Don’t _even_."

Merry laugh. "Okay, okay, don’t take it so hard."

"And I’m mortally certain you aren’t dreaming. Unless we’re having the same dream."

Harper bumped against him again. "Can you do that? Share somebody’s dream."

"Maybe." He put his arm around Harper. It slowed their progress a little, but he was on leave, Harper was on leave, so what the hell. He’d sacrificed too much in the past to his sense of what was appropriate. Still would sacrifice too much to his mission, he knew that about himself. But he wasn’t going to sacrifice this.

He’d given his word.

Harper wasn’t that drunk. Back in their room, with the seabreeze blowing the draperies, Harper was both languid and hungry, a contradictory combination that set Dylan’s nerves on fire. Long sweet kisses, hot mouth and clever fingers and it became a competition, who could drive the other crazier until finally Harper just screwed his body down onto Dylan’s cock, obliterating thought.

Ivory skin in the moonlight, and that blissful, ecstatic face and Dylan moved, thrust upward into heat, ran his hands over that ivory skin until Harper reached for his own cock. "No," he said hoarsely and batted Harper’s hands away. "Mine."

"Greedy," Harper gasped, "And slow, get to _it_ , will you?" Screwed himself down again, groaned.

"Impatient," Dylan countered, and found the tube of lubricant, slicked his fingers up and gripped Harper.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, just like that, god, Dylan." Harper moved again, he moved, and there was nothing but that heat, that connection, that bliss, and it kept spiraling upward until pleasure wracked him, pushed him over the edge with a roar of something that wasn’t quite victory, wasn’t quite joy, and was entirely what he wanted.

But it didn’t stop him from being aware of just when Harper followed him over that edge.

Sweet collapse, and Harper licked his chest. "That’s what I like." Blurrily.

Dylan smiled. Harper liked a lot of things, and he was enjoying the hell out of discovering them one by one, both in bed and out.

It had been an eventful year. Nietzscheans, and Magog and pirates and a lot of hopes, some of which had not yet come to fruition. They were making progress on the mission, some of the rough edges that showed up in a small crew had rubbed down to mutual understanding. He had learned to remember that his crew wasn’t High Guard, and they’d learned that sometimes a little order was a Good Thing. Trance continued mysterious and enigmatic, Tyr continued to be Tyr, which wasn’t always a bad thing, although it had necessitated some bland words when Harper had confided that Tyr was pumping him for information on Dylan’s plans and state of mind. 

Rev was still Rev, counseling all of them on occasion, spreading the Way on others.

"I can’t disagree," he muttered and rubbed his palm over the small of Harper’s back. Smooth, warm skin.

Soft chuff of laughter into his chest. "You like everything."

"So do you. And as long as you’re involved, why shouldn’t I?" It seemed reasonable to him.

"I like that, too." Almost a purr.

Harper was still Harper, too. Cocky, wise-ass, brilliant, manic, fast-talking--and less guarded, more open, more... maybe confident wasn’t the word. Maybe willing to trust was a better description. And Harper trusted him, something he marveled over at the worst of times, rejoiced in at the best of times. "Good." He shifted, Harper raised his head and oh, yeah, long slow kiss. 

Harper sighed, rested his elbows on Dylan’s chest. "Too bad we can’t stay here."

"I thought you hated being planet-bound." Dylan arched an eyebrow.

"I do. But right now, it sounds good." Brief flicker of a grin.

Ah, well he understood that. As much as a part of him needed to be back on the ship, the part of him that was relaxed agreed. "It does, sort of," he agreed. "But we can come back."

Another grin. "Next year?"

Dylan grinned back. "You’re angling for another all-expenses paid trip, I see."

Harper snickered. "Damn right, I am."

"Barring unforeseen circumstances, I don’t see why not." Dylan leaned up, took another kiss. "Maybe next time, you can teach _me_ to surf."

Oh, it was the right thing to say. He could almost feel Harper’s delight at that prospect. "Yeah, that would be fun." Harper put his head down on his arms. "A lot of fun."

Fun. He’d spent so much time since they’d been pulled from the event horizon denying himself fun, denying himself....happiness, pleasure, joy, even laughter.

Harper had spent so much of his life expecting--and receiving--the worst.

Somehow, they’d muddled through things together. They’d probably continue to muddle on occasion, but there was plenty of time to do so. 

It wasn’t what he’d expected when he’d enlisted this crew. But he was damned glad of what it had brought to him.

"I love the sound of the waves," Harper murmured and shifted, put his head on Dylan’s shoulder and his arm over Dylan’s chest. 

"So do I," Dylan said. Harper gradually relaxed, arm going slack, breathing going deep and regular. After a while, he closed his own eyes.

Sometimes it was possible to do what was right and still have life and warmth and light, to have affection and bickering and all the things good and bad that came with that intimacy. And even if neither he nor Harper said it, to have someone beside you, to have love.

He was rebuilding the Commonwealth. And maybe, with this, he was rebuilding himself.

***THE END***


End file.
